Poetry  and  Prose  Selections 


From  the  Works  of 


Ridgway  George  Rowley 


GIFT  OF 


v 


wKs1 


Poetry  and  Prose 

Selections 

From  the  Works  of 

Ridsway  Georse  Rowley 


THE    AUTHOR 

As  District  Attorney  of  San  Mateo  County   Cal..  and  Proprietor 
and  Editor  of  *  San  Mateo  County  Journal." 

( For  private  distribution  only ) 


3s  ;,< 

INTRODUCTORY  AND  REMINISCENT 


A  i   .     i  .  * 


.. 

To  my  Friends,  the  few,  still  in  the  flesh  living;  to  the  memory        * 
of  the  many  more,  nearer  and  dearer  ones,  who  have  passed  on,       »*  (jg 
and  out,  and  "over  the  Great  Divide,"  leaving  me  here  to  follow  on, 
alone,  as  best  I  may,  in  the  "Trail  of  the  Lonesome  Pine,"  this  small 
tribute  of  loyalty  and  respect  is  dutifully  inscribed. 

The  Author,  for  himself  alone,  claims  at  least  one  merit  for  his 
work,  and  that  is  its  true  and  significant  originality.  Not  a  line 
or  thought  therein,  (saving,  of  course,  marked  quotations)  was 
"begged,  borrowed,  or  stolen,"  from  any  other  source  whatever, 
save  the  melting  pot  of  his  own  fervid  fancy  and  imagination. 
(Ah,  well-a-day!  The  conceit  of  youth!  To  be  nothing  is  less 
than  something,  to  be  something  is  more  than  nothing;  but  to  be 
young  is  everything.  ) 

Much  of  the  verse,  it  will  be  noticed,  is  of  the  extreme  west, 
written  in  California  some  years  ago,  and  published,  for  the  most 
part,  over  the  signature  of  "R"  in  the  "San  Jose  Mercury"  at  that 
time  one  of  the  leading  newspapers  of  the  state,  owned  and  edited 
by  Hon.  J.  J.  Owen,  then  easily  at  the  head  of  the  literary  editors 
of  the  state.  It  was  his  more  than  friendly  commendation  and 
encouragement  that  spurred  an  ambitious  youngster  on  to  strive 
for  higher  things.  In  fact,  about  this  time,  it  is  verily  believed, 
that  had  the  Author's  "Pegasus"  but  slipped  his  (or  her)  halter, 
(really,  we  forget  now  whether  Pegasus  was  a  horse  or  a  mare) 
the  brute  would  have  vaulted  over  the  moon  with  its  rider,  and 
landed  safely  on  the  other  side,  "withers  all  unwrung." 

Mr.  Owen's  criticisms  were  certainly  flattering.  They  kept 
coming  like  this:  "Amy  Spain,  a  splendid  original  poem  of  rare 
merit,  that  would  grace  the  columns  of  the  best  literary  papers  in 
the  land,  will  appear  next  week." 


tf  •  •'"i'bETRY  AM)  PROSE  SELECTIONS 

"All  lovers  of  good  poetry  will  find  a  beautiful  original  poem 
on  our  first  page,  entitled,  'Swift  the  Days  of  Spring  are  Passing., 
It  is  from  the  pen  of  our  gifted  contributor,  'R' 

"  'Only  a  Little  Brook,'  a  beautiful  poem  by  'R'  will   l>c  admired 
by  every  lover  of  the  Divine  Muse." 

44  4The  Wounded  Scout'  contains  a  grand  idea  clothed  in  state 
ly  measure." 

44  4R'  comes  back  to  us  again  this  week  as  fresh  and  vigorous  as 
ever.  He  is  cordially  welcomed  by  our  many  readers." 

"Don't  fail  to  read  4R's'  charming  'Christmas  Memories' 
in  these  columns.  It  is  better  than  good." 

"A  beautiful  original  poem,  The  Wooing  of  Nature,'  by  'R' 
will  appear  next  week." 

And  so  they  kept  coming.  With  such  provocation  as  this  why 
shouldn't  one — well  let  a-mind. 

A  word  in  explanation  of  some  of  the  prose  articles  may  be  in 
order.  The  writer  at  that  time  was  engaged  in  a  very  strenuous 
contest  in  San  Mateo  County,  California,  chiefly  with  the  Spring 
Valley  Water  Company,  a  corporation  supplying  San  Francisco 
with  water  from  said  county,  and  which  by  reason  of  its  great 
wealth  and  arrogant  power  had  dominated  the  policies  and  politics 
of  that  county  for  years,  to  its  great  detriment.  The  good  people 
of  the  county  finally  arose  in  revolt  and  the  writer,  a  citizen  there 
of  for  years,  was  "in  it."  He  established  a  newspaper,  "The  San 
Mateo  County  Journal,"  to  espouse  the  cause  of  reform,  became 
the  leader  of  the  cause  and  was  warmly  supported  by  the  majority 
of  the  people  of  the  county,  so  that  after  a  struggle  of  two  years  or 
more,  chiefly  by  the  aid  of  the  newspaper,  as  pitted  against  the 
op|X)sition  paper,  the  T.  <S:  (/'.,  the  government  of  the  County  was 
redeemed,  the  Author  made  District  Attorney,  and  all  the  import 
ant  offices  in  the  County  filled  by  the  reform  candidates. 

In  the  meantime,  an  able  and  most  strenuous  Kdhor  for  the 
"other  paper"  had  Iiecn  imported  from  the  east,  for  the  express 


RIDGWAY  GEORGE  ROWLEY 


purpose  of  running  "  Rowley"  out  of  the  County  by  his  strenuous 
efforts,  and  he,  having  been  a  war  correspondent  for  the  New  York 
Herald,  was  supposed  to  be  especially  adapted  for  the  purpose, 
having  been  on  the  "firing  line"  for  years.  But  it  couldn't  be  done. 
The  fur  flew  thick  and  fast,  as  only  western  Editors  can  make  it  fly; 
but  "Rowley's  mud-hook"  had  too  firm  a  grip  on  the  county  and 
with  his  now  important  office  to  back  him  up,  the  fight  was  soon 
won;  the  County  was  made  over.  (To  understand  the  situation 
better,  it  may  be  well  to  note,  in  passing,  that  the  Editor  succeed 
ing  me  was  shot  dead  in  the  streets  of  Redwood  City.  Now,  had 
this  happened  to  'Rowley'  under  like  conditions,  and  in  the  dis 
charge  of  his  public  duties,  it  is  safe  to  say  that  on  the  "morning 
after"  every  lamp  post  in  the  county-seat  would  have  been  hung 
with  an  emblem  of  mourning,  each  six  feet  long.  His  friends  were 
many,  and  tried  and  true,  and  they  knew  it.)  It  was  after  swords 
had  been  crossed  for  some  time  and  definite  results  known,  that  the 
Ring  Editor  threw  up  his  arms  in  despair  and  exclaimed,  "It's  of 
no  use,  no  use!  You  can't  down  'Rowley'  with  a  pen,  it  will  take  a 
bullet."  The  above  noted  tragedy  would  show  that  this  was  at 
the  time  no  idle  word,  no  empty  threat. 

It  was  about  this  time  that  Fremont  Older,  then  quite  a  young 
man,  became  connected  with  the  Journal  office.  He  has  since  risen 
so  high  in  California  Journalism,  as  a  reformer,  that  it  is  with  diffi 
dence  we  mention  his  name  here.  Still,  we  think,  he  can  but  hold 
kindly  remembrance  of  the  first  lessons  he  took  in  the  Reformation 
of  a  County,  from  the  columns  of  the  Journal.  Mr.  Older  has  cer 
tainly  proven  a  most  worthy  son  of  its  succeeding.  His  reputation 
is  more  than  state-wide;  it  is  national;  and  we  recall  with  pride 
the  fact  that  he  was  wont  to  closely  study  the  "copy"  of  the  "lead 
ers"  sent  in  by  his  chief,  since  he  was  the  only  one  in  the  office  who 
could  read  it.  Yes,  he  has  beaten  his  old  chief  out,  on  his  own  lines, 
hands  down.  This  is  the  result  of  persistency  coupled  with  ability. 
Oh,  Persistency!  thou  art  a  jewel!  shine  on!  Ability;  without  Per- 


6  RIDCAVAY  C.KORC.K  ROWLEY 

sistency,  you  cannot  make  good;    having  no  lustre  of  your  own  you 
cannot  shine. 

Now,  returning  to  earth  once  more,  inasmuch  as  this  little  vol 
ume  is  "for  private  distribution  only"  the  Public  can  have  no  chance 
at  it.  Indeed,  in  this  respect,  the  sense  of  security  is  so  well  assured, 
that  we  can  almost  sympathize  with  that  multi-millionaire,  who  in 
his  extremity  declared:  "The  Public  be  d—  — d."  (But  then  he 
was  soon  sorry  1'or  ii.  Tli.it  >.mu-  public  i>  .il\vay>  lo  IK-  reckoned 
with:  there  is  so  many  of  it,  and  it  keeps  coming.)  Again,  since 
this  is  a  "gift  enterprise,"  and  it  is  so  out  of  form  to  "look  a  gift 
horse  in  the  mouth,"  we  guess  our  friends  too  are  held  down  to  good 
lx.'havior;  so  there  we  are. 

Yes,  we  are  painfully  well  aware  that  the  commercialism  of  the 
day  has  fairly  strangled  the  "Divine  Muse"  so  that  but  few  men 
care  for  poetry  now-a-days.  Like  the  Church,  for  the  most  part, 
Poetry  has  been  consigned  to  the  domain  of  Woman.  Man  is  too 
busy  with  what  he  is  pleased  to  consider  as  more  important  things. 
But  in  the  meantime,  and  all  the  more,  it  behooves  all  lovers  of  the 
Muse,  to  stand  by  their  colors  until  she  shall  come  into  her  own 
again.  Even  now  things  are  changing.  Yes,  that  "Towhead" 
of  the  Syracuse  Boys'  Club,  in  a  recent  debate  stated  the  case  ele 
gantly  and  eloquently,  when  he  oracularly  ejaculated:  "When 
the  Ball  of  Life  goes  rolling  down  the  Alley  of  Time,  and  shunts  out 
into  the  Boulevard  of  Eternity,  things  do  change." 

"Yet  ever  has  the  light  of  Song 

Illumed  our  darkest  hours, 
And  cheered  us  on  life's  toiling  way 

And  gemmed  our  path  with  flowers." 

THE  AUTHOR. 
Dated,  Cortland,  N.  Y. 
May  1,  1914. 


RIDGWAY  GEORGE  ROWLEY 


YOSEMITE 

I  have  stood  upon  Inspiration  Point, 

Far  o'er  the  wondrous  vision  of  Yosemite; 

There  felt  my  soul  spring  forth  and  deep  anoint 
The  memory  of  that  vision  with  immortality. 

It  was — I  know  not  how  it  was — but  yet 

Did  seem  I  stood  upon  the  brink  of  a  universe, 

With  other  worlds  as  barriers  deep  set 

To  baffle  farther  sight,  and  limit  sweet  converse. 

Of  things  forbidden;  the  windows  of  my  soul 

Thrown  widest  ope,  still  all  too  small  to  right  receive 

The  light  my  spirit  craved ;  upon  the  scroll 

Of  the  blue  heaven  above  'twas  written  "7  believe," 

Yea!    in  th'  Eternal  God  I  do  believe — 

And  here  see  my  witness  and  my  testimony! 

Stand  forth,  ye  mountain  walls  and  peaks!  that  heave 
Your  massive  brows  as  in  convulsive  agony ; 

Wrenched  by  the  living  God  the  truth  to  yield, 
Of  Him,  of  thee,  of  Time  and  of  Eternity, 

To  stubborn  unbelieving  man,  whose  shield, 
Defying  God — his  armor,    Infidelity, 

Lies  pierced  and  broken  now,  a  wretched  thing! 

Be  ye  my  strong,  swift  voice,  and  mute  with  eloquence 
Proclaim  Thy  word  and  work  sublime,  to  bring 

Conviction  unto  him;   this  be  thy  recompense. 

And  yet,  somewhat  of  thee,  remembrance  craves, 
Thou  marvel,  Yosemite!  Not  e'en  the  graves 

Of  long  forgotten  sights  and  sounds,  heaped  o'er 
With  the  dark  mouldering  dust  of  mounds,  the  dower 

Oblivion  brings,  can  ever  aught  conceal 
Of  t  hee  or  thine ;  forever  thou'lt  reveal 

Thy  awful  presence  unto  me — by  night, 

By  day — with  the  infinity  of  might 


POFTRY  AM)  PROSK  SKLF(T1<>\^ 


M.idc  -loriou-  by  ihv  >.K  Tc(  I  in  i -i  >  a  IK!  >hn>u<l>. 

Where,  all  victorious,  rushed  from  out  the  clouds 
The  leaping  waters,  spanned  by  the  gilded  arch 
Of  His  great  promise — beating  an  angel's  march 

From  out  the  deep  bowl  of  their  seething  Hood, 
Whose  froth  and  foam  roll  on  like  whitened  blood 
Of  spirits  pure,  let  fall  from  skies  above, 
To  reassure  to  doubting  man  their  mortal  love. 

Again,  that  placid  water  'neath  South  Dome; 

I  gazed  into  its  depths  and  saw  the  home 
Of  Nature  mirrored  there,  so  bright,  so  fair, 
I  thought  that  sure  the  spirits  dealt  me  double  there 

'Twas  here,  o'er  the  pris'm'd  edge  of  that  high  mount 
I  looked  beneath  my  feet  and  slow  did  count 
The  coming  moments  of  the  orb  of  day, 
As  its  gorgeous  colors  rose  in  magnificent  display. 

4Tis  Vernal  Fall,  where  summer's  queen 
Arrays  herself  in  garlands  green 
To  meet  the  joyous  stream  that  flows 
From  out  the  white  eternal  snows. 

And  thou,  Nevada!  stronger  one! 
The  first  that,  heedless,  dares  to  run 
That  awful  race;    oh,  fearful  plunge! 
It  must  thy  waters  all  expunge. 

The  crystal  drops,  dissolved  in  tears, 
\«»\\  ^linnt  their  feathery  darts,  like tpean 
Hurled  from  on  high  by  the  wrath  of  Jove; 
But  lo!  they  meet  again  in  love. 

Then  on  and  on,  and  down  and  down, 
They  plunge  and  hiss  and  roar  and  frown, 
A  creamy  mass  of  seething  spray 
'Mid  clouds  of  mist  that  hide  the  day. 


RIDGWAY  GEORGE  ROWLEY 


But  pure  as  a  maiden's  dream  of  love, 
And  soft  and  low  as  a  cooing  dove, 
And  gentle  as  the  dews  of  night 
That  nestle  on  the  lily  white, 

Is  the  pride  of  th'  falls,  the  Bridal  Veil! 
So  spiritually  delicate  and  frail — 
An  angel's  robe  of  filmy  lace 
Concealing  an  exquisite  grace. 

Like  a  stream  of  silvery  thread  on  high, 
Dropped,  waving  down  from  out  the  sky, 
To  adorn  a  dark,  cold,  rocky  breast, 
Loftier  far  than  the  eagle's  nest, 

Yosemite's  rill  runs  smooth  and  still. 
The  hour  is  quiet  as  your  will, 
When  summer's  eve  brings  sweet  repose, 
Reclining  'neath  the  fragrant  rose. 


But  hark!  'Tis  the  thunder  drum  of  heaven! 
The  skies  are  pierced,  in  twain  are  riven! 
From  peak  to  peak,  from  crag  to  crag 
The  lurid  lightnings  flash  their  flag 

Of  blue  and  gold  athwart  the  sky! 
The  glorious  banner  of  th'  Most  High! 
The  stricken  rocks  in  fragments  fall 
Clashing  down  the  mountain's  wall! 

From  Glacier  Point  to  Royal  Arch, 
Back  and  forth  the  echoes  march, 
To  the  time  of  stately  numbers, 
The  music  of  the  rolling  thunders. 

On  the  dreadful  brink  of  Yosemite's  fall 
A  storm-cloud  gathers  and  bursts,  and  all 
Its  volume  of  water  sends  thundering  down, 
Like  a  snow-avalanche  o'er  a  doomed  town. 


10  POKTRY   AM)   PROS!.  SKLKCTH  >\^ 


The  South  Dome  nods  unto  the  North, 
While  Mirror  Lake  goes  rushing  forth 
In  fear,  from  'twixt  the  two,  to  save 
Her  threatened  waters  from  a  grave. 

Cathedral's  spires  and  turrets  dun 

( )f  somber  rock  look  gloomy  on ; 

Whilst  Union,  free,  though  brown  and  bare, 

Stands  proud  and  stately  in  the  air. 

The  Brothers,  from  their  granite  bed 
Would  leap  across  the  blue  Merced, 
In  joy  of  their  great  ecstacy, 
Awakened  by  the  storm-king's  glee. 

*  *  *i 

And  now,  ye  valley  chief,  so  fair! 
Thy  name  the  last  we  shall  declare; 
The  place  of  honor,  the  post  of  fame, 
Is  thine,  and  thine  alone  to  name. 

Amazing  precipice  of  clay! 
Proud  rock  of  earth!   the  light  of  day 
Ne'er  shone  on  other  equal  thee, 
So  bright,  so  pure,  so  grand,  so  free! 

ElCapitan!   El  Capitan! 
Oh,  when  my  spirit,  faint  and  wan, 
Shall  seek  relief  from  troubled  thought— 
That  solace  which  the  world  ne'er  brought 

Nor  can  bring — thy  beauteous  form, 
Unmarred  through  centuries  of  storm, 
Massive,  majestic,  calm,  serene, 
( )f  almost  marbled-whiteness  seen, 

Pure  as  the  Spirit  of  the  Vale, 
That  sits  above  the  cloud  and  gale, 
Enthroned  in  thee — shall  give  me  peace, 
And  in  thy  presence  strife  shall  cease. 


RIDGWAY  GEORGE  ROWLEY  11 


Swift  the  Days  of  Spring  are  Passing! 

I. 

Yes,  swift  the  days  of  Spring  are  passing! 
Fleeting  like  a  thought  away, 
The  bloom  and  blossom  of  the  orchards 

Fading,  falling,  day  by  day— 
Now,  growing  fruit  and  ripening  berries 

Hang  where  but  a  while  ago 
Flowers  of  red  and  flowers  of  purple, 

Flowers  as  fair  as  virgin  snow, 

II. 

Hung  clustering  thick  upon  the  branches, 

Drooping  low  their  fragrant  heads, 
Slumbering  in  the  balmy  morning, 

Ere  they  'rose  from  dewy  beds- 
Sweet  fair  flowers,  thou'rt  gone  forever! 

Short  thy  living,  brief  thy  stay! 
The  tell-tale  music  of  thy  passing 

Greets  our  ear  in  plaintive  lay. 

III. 

The  swallows  twitter  freer,  faster, 

Since  their  homes  of  clay  are  done ; 
Swift  they  skim  aerial  meadows, 

Kind  they  meet  the  coming  sun; 
Up  the  slopes  of  heaven  they're  gliding, 

Downward  sink  in  seas  of  air — 
O,  would  that  mortals  could  be  joyous 

As  a  happy  birding  pair! 

IV. 

But  swift  the  days  of  Spring  are  passing, 

Passing,  silently  away, 
The  morrow  brings  at  twilight's  dawning 

A  full  blushing  Summer's  day— 
The  tide  of  life  is  at  its  flooding, 


12  POKTRY  AM)   PkOSK  SKLKCTIONS 


Soon  its  waters  turn  and  flow ; 
List!  as  it  murmurs  in  its  running 
To  the  eternal  sea  lx?low. 

V. 

The  high  ambitions  of  our  youth-time, 
Hopes  as  bright  as  starry  flame, 

This  summer  sun  is  fast  consuming- 
Naught  is  left  them  but  a  name. 

The  fairest  buds  of  spring-time's  wakening, 
Into  listless  flowers  are  spread, 

Their  leaves  are  falling,  falling,  falling, 
Soon  they'll  mingle  with  the  dead. 

VI. 
Whence  now  the  joy,  the  joy  of  living? 

Spring  and  seed  time  are  no  more! 
The  harvest  to  the  sickle's  yielding, 

Reapers  garner  up  their  store! 
And  what  have  I  ?     A  few  stray  gleanings! 

Fields  of  plenty  have  I  none, 
While  overhead  in  noonday  brightness 

Shines  the  glittering  summer  sun. 

VII. 
Away!  away!  to  our  own  green  spring-time, 

Leaving  all  this  gilded  show, 
Memory  trips  it  o'er  the  Past-ground, 

Time  is  watching  as  we  go — 
Long  streaming  locks  of  silky  whiteness 

Float  upon  the  evening  wind, — 
Child  of  Misfortune!  born  of  Sorrow! 

Look  not  back,  pale  Death's  behind! 


RIDGWAY  GEORGE  ROWLEY  13 


Amy  Spain 

(Amy  Spain  was  a  colored  woman  of  Darlington,  South  Carolina,  the  center 
of  a  rich  cotton  growing  district.  At  the  time  of  the  entrance  of  the  Union  army 
under  Sherman  into  the  town,  this  poor  slave,  unable  to  restrain  her  emotion,  in 
the  supreme  joy  of  her  heart  involuntarily  exclaimed:  "Bless  the  Lord,  the  Yan 
kees  have  come!"  For  this,  and  this  alone,  immediately  after  the  troops  had  left, 
she  was  taken  by  the  citizens  of  the  town  and  hung  to  the  limb  of  an  old  sycamore 
tree,  which  stood  in  front  of  the  Court  House.  An  auction  block  used  in  the 
monthly  sale  of  "chattels,"  served  as  a  scaffold.  From  this  Amy  Spain  was 
launched  into  eternity.  She  died  in  the  firm  spirit  of  a  martyr,  with  a  prayer  up 
on  her  lips,  which  was  rudely  interrupted  by  the  oaths  of  one  of  her  executioners. ) 

Oh,  stand  old  sycamore  tree! 
A  long,  long  life  to  thee! 

And  ever  keep  from  harm, 
'Neath  thy  sheltering  arm, 
That  Hall  of  Justice  free; 
To  teach  proud  Chivalry 
That  the  name 
And  martyred  fame 
Of  Amy  Spain 
Shall  remain 

Till  trees  shall  cease  to  grow, 
And  streams  of  Justice  flow. 

Let  birds  above  thee  sing, 
While  maids  beneath  thee  bring 

Flowers — sweet  flowers  of  May, 
Around  thy  limbs  to  lay; 
Thus  consecrate,  of  thee, 
A  shrine  to  liberty — 

That  the  name 
And  storied  fame 
Of  Amy  Spain 
Shall  remain 

Till  songs  no  more  are  heard 
From  maiden  or  from  bird. 

In  the  calm  stilly  night, 
When  the  stars  are  shining  bright, 
Looking  down  with  their  eyes 


roKTKY  AM)   I'ROSK  SKl.K(Tln\^ 


From  the  mild  blue  skies, 
Amy's  spiiit  then  shall  come 
To  the  town  of  Darlington, 
For  the  name 
And  quenchless  fame 
Of  Amy  Spain 
Shall  remain 

As  long  as  night  shall  be, 
And  stars  shine  brilliantly. 

To  the  watchers  of  the  dead, 
To  the  weary  in  their  bed, 

'Mid  their  dreams,  and  their  sleep, 
In  th'  hour  of  midnight  deep, 
Shall  be  heard  the  voice  of  one, 
"God  bless  them,  they  have  come" 
So  the  name 
And  martyred  fame 
Of  Amy  Spain 
Shall  remain 

On  South  Carolina's  shore, 
Evermore!  evermore! 

Oft,  that  same  block  of  wood 
'Fore  thee  in  terror  stood ; 

But  now  its  fears  are  gone — 
'Tis  a  mercy-seat  alone, 
Since,  through  eternity, 
It  gives  thee  liberty, 

While  thy  name 
And  gloried  fame 
Oh,  Amy  Spain1 
Shall  remain 
A  beacon  of  the  past . 
To  the  people  oi  ihv  casti  . 

Thou  poor  old  >la\  c!   to  die. 
And  'ne.ith  tin-  MH!  to  lie! 

C.reen  be  the  grass  ili.n  ^n»\vs, 


RTDGWAY  GEORGE  ROWLEY  15 


And  lightly  lay  the  snows 
Upon  the  honored  grave 
Of  a  most  loyal  slave. 

Yea!  the  name 
And  martyred  fame 
Of  Amy  Spain 
Shall  remain 
In  story  and  in  song 
As  the  ages  roll  along. 


Our  Valley 

A  vale,  outstretching  like  the  main, 
Its  billowy  waves  of  growing  grain 

'Twixt  mountain  shores  held  beating- 
A  summer  breeze  soft  creeping  on, 
Whilst  April  skies  restrain  the  sun 

From  a  too  ardent  greeting. 

A  stream,  a  brook,  a  river  wide, 
Which,  'mid  the  willows,  seek  to  hide 

Their  crooked  pathway  running; 
Adown  the  mountain's  wild  ravine 
Their  limped  waters  rush,  unseen, 

In  all  their  native  cunning. 

But  quick,  like  wild  birds  to  their  rest, 
They  nestle  on  the  valley's  breast, 

Their  mountain  home  forgetting, 
Then,  slowly  down  the  creeping  tide 
Go  wandering  toward  their  ocean  bride 

In  fondness,  still  regretting. 

The  peasant's  home,  a  fairy  spot, 
'Mid  grove  of  oak  or  flowery  grot, 

In  its  calm  quiet  seeming, 
WTith  trellised  porch,  and  old  arm-chair, 
How  oft  have  you  and  I  sat  there 

In  visions  of  our  dreaming? 


16  I'OKTKY   AND   PROS!-;  SKI.KCTK  )\S 


A  cottage  white,  'neath  boughs  of  green,— 
Yea!  in  the  distance  still,  I  wean, 

1  hear  tin-  lowing  cattle — 
I  see  a  matron,  grave,  yet  fair, 
With  ruddy  children  playing  there, 

In  miniature,  life's  battle. 

No  discontent  of  winter's  storm 
Can  ever  reach  this  summer  home, 

Where  bees  are  constant  sipping 
Sweets  from  out  the  flowers  that  bloom, 
Where  sunshine  paints  with  feathered  plume, 

In  rain-bow  colors  dipping. 

Fair  fields  below,  warm  skies  above, 
A  fitting  place  for  youthful  love 

To  meet  at  evening's  glowing, 
And  neath  the  stars'  inquiring  glance 
Two  mortals  each  their  joy  enhance 

By  two  full  hearts  bestowing. 

With  Heaven  above,  earth's  calm  below, 
A  fitting  place  for  age  to  grow 

In  grace  and  in  believing, 
As  through  the  live  oak's  spreading  limbs 
Arise  the  Sabbath  morning  hymns, 

In  praise  of  One  redeeming. 


The  Wounded  Scout 

(This  is  a  piece  of  statuary,  representing  a  wounded  Union  scout,  in  the 
swamps  of  Carolina,  leaning  upon  a  friendly  negro  slave.  The  scout  has  been 
wounded  in  the  right  arm,  the  coat  sleeve  of  which  is  ripped  open,  disclosing  the 
wound,  with  a  handkerchief  twisted  tight  above  it,  and  around  the  arm,  by  means 
of  a  stick,  applied  as  a  tourniquet,  to  stop  the  flow  of  blood;  while  the  fore-arm 
shows  the  full  veins  swollen  by  the  compression.  He  h.i-  .ipp.irmtly  been  com- 
IK'lled  to  forsake  his  gun,  but  still  retains  his  havrr-.n  k.  •  .uuid^t  l.<.\,  t  tc .,  and 
stands  in  a  drooping  position  with  hi>  It  It  .inn  upon  the  right  >houl<lrr  of  t  In-  slave, 
his  wounded  limb  hanging  hrlplr--.lv  \>\  hi-  -i<lr,  while  hi-  p.ilr,  w.in,  but  youthful 
face  rests  upon  the  neck  of  the  slave.  The  negro  is  a  refugee,  of  a  stalwart  form, 


RIDGWAY  GEORGE  ROWLEY  17 


while  his  fierce  looks,  torn  and  ragged  clothes,  and  bare  head  and  feet,  tell  of  days 
and  nights  spent  in  the  swamps,  and  of  the  fearful  pursuit  of  the  blood-hounds. 
He  stands  with  his  right  arm  around  the  waist  of  the  scout,  supporting  him.  With 
a  defiant  front  and  determined  gaze  he  is  peering  forward,  evidently  on  the  look 
out  for  the  enemy,  while  conducting  his  helpless  charge  to  a  place  of  safety.  The 
model  is  of  the  first  conception,  and  the  work  of  the  most  artistic  execution.  The 
expression  of  the  features  of  the  scout  is  so  in  accordance  with  his  suffering  and 
helpless  condition,  and  that  of  the  slave  with  his  desperate  position,  that  it  is  al 
together  a  most  speaking,  life-like,  and  affecting  scene.  It  tells  more  of  the  genius 
and  spirit  of  this  war  of  rebellion  than  could  written  volumes.  It  is  the  work  of  a 
New  Yorker ) : 

Can  marble  speak  in  fuller  tone 
Than  human  tongue?     Can  senseless  stone 
Inspire  thoughts  divine  within  us? 
Kindle  that  spark  which  Eloquence 
Alone  is  deemed  the  tinder  of? 
Arouse  the  slumbering  soul  to  love 
Of  all  that's  beautiful  and  good? 
Curdle  in  our  hearts  the  chilled  blood, 
Which  renewed  with  power  returns  again 
Its  rushing  tide  through  tingling  vein? 
Oh,  where,  cold  chiselled  stone!  doth  lie 

The  secret  of  thy  spell,  and  why 

Doth  man  bow  in  reverence  to  thee? 

Come  forth  thou  hidden  mystery! 

Declare  to  us  thy  magic  source, 

Whither  flows  thy  wondrous  course? 

Ah!  there  is  a  weird  spirit  within 

Thy  hardened  breast  which,  though  unseen, 

Responds  with  music  all  its  own 

To  mortal  flesh,  and  blood,  and  bone! 

Cold,  cold  the  heart,  senseless  the  soul! 

Of  him  who  heeds  not  the  story  told 

By  the  sculptured  group,  "The  W7ounded  Scout," 

It  breathes  a  tale  each  day  poured  out 

In  reddened  stream  of  warm  life-blood 

For  our  country's  cause,  our  country's  good . 


18  I'OKTRY  AM)   PROSK  SKLKCTK 


It  tells  of  heroes,  Spartans  all, 

Who  'midst  wild  bogs,  and  swamps  do  fall ; 

With  slaves  to  catch  their  dying  groan, 

There  lie  uncoffined  and  unknown— 

( .rant,  oh  God!  that  hereafter  may 

The  stones  from  their  graves  be  rolled  away 

Even  as  I  gaze 

My  thoughts  like  living  fire  do  Hash 
Athwart  my  brain,  and  instant  dash 
Their  light'ning  course  far,  far  beyond 
The  stone  I  see — I  stand  spell-bound— 
Mine  outward  eye  is  dark  as  night , 
Within  there  gleams  a  holier  light ; 
By  it  all  earthly  objects  seem 
As  things  unworthy  of  a  name — 
My  sculptured  forms  have  soared  on  high, 
As  angels  float  'mid  earth  and  sky 
I  see  them  now,  encircled  round 
With  spirits  from  the  deep  profound. 
A  radiance  brighter  far,  I  ween, 
Than  e'er  in  Heaven  before  was  seen, 
Lights  up  the  arched  vault  of  blue 
With  mellow  tints  of  golden  hue; 
Angelic  wings  fill  all  the  air, 
fathering  near  our  marble  pair; 
Around,  about,  beneath,  above 
Are  hovering  spirits  crowned  with  love; 
While  gentle-flowing  zephyrs  rise 
To  waft  their  hymns  beyond  the  skies, 
There  floats  this  glorious  anthem  back  : 

"The  White  Man  leaneth  on  the  Bh'.ck, 
Ye  hosts  of  Heaven  draw  ye  near, 
Behold  the  slave  hath  lost  his  fear! 
A  man  he  looks,  a  man  he  is, 
Bound  arm  in  arm,  mingling  his  tears 
In  sympathy  and  l<>\(   \\iih  our. 

Whom  God,  the  Father  and  the  Son. 


RIDGWAY  GEORGE  ROWLEY  19 


Created  of  a  fairer  mien, 

Yet  made  he  not  his  soul  more  clean. 

No  longer  shall  he  an  outcast  roam — 

E'en  on  earth  (as  in  heaven)  hast  he  found  a  home, 

Say,  spirits  of  the  holy  dead! 

Oh,  whither,  whither  hast  thou  fled! 

Come  guard  our  soldiers,  guard  them  well, 

Rebellion's  fiends  drive  back  to  Hell — 

The  daring  scout,  the  lonely  guard, 

Be  ever  with  them  watch  and  ward! 


Age  and  I 

Age  and  I  could  never  agree, 

I  scarce  know  why ; 
I  have  no  lack  of  sympathy, 

Regard  most  high, 
Reverence,  respect  all  dutiful, 
For  silvered  heads  made  beautiful 

In  th'  dreamy  light 

That  gilds  the  night 

Of  parting  days 

With  heavenly  rays. 

I  can  support  the  tottering  form 
And  shield  it  from  Life's  wintry  storm 
With  all  the  strength  that  in  me  lies; 
Yea,  more!     Exhausted  nature  cries, 
I  n  vain  to  me  to  cease 
And  give  her  rest  and  peace ; 
When  duty  calls 
The  narrow  walls 

Of  my  own  comfort,  dear  and  sweet, 
Can  ne'er  restrain  my  anxious  feet, 
Nor  keep  them  from  the  door 
Of  the  suffering  poor, 

Where  Age  and  Misery 
Weep  with  Poverty. 


20  I'OKTRY   AND    I'kosK  sl.U.CTlONS 


And  yet,  must  I  confess, 
'Tis  duty  all,  nor  less, 
Nor  more — I  take  no  praise, 
Ask  none — but  could  my  ways 
Be  fathomed,  and  the  deep  sea 
Of  this  heart's  mystery 

Measured,  then  would  the  reeking  line  disclose 
The  quantity  and  the  quality  of  its  loves! 

Age  is  not  one  of  these! 

Like  wintry  wind  through  trees 

Leafless,  almost  lifeless,  sighing 

A  requiem  o'er  the  doomed  and  dying, 

Filling  the  soul  with  a  mournful  dread, 
As  when  we  tread  the  graves  of  the  dead- 
Something  like  this  is  Age! 
An  ever  written  page 
Of  human  history — the  story  told, 
With  nothing  left  to  explore  or  to  unfold. 

I  would  my  heart  had  other  eyes 
That  it  could  see  in  Winter's  skies 

Some  beauty  lingering 

Of  Love's  own  fingering! 
But  dark  and  dread  and  drear 
They  inspire  me  with  but  fear 

And  awe  and  trembling. 
Age!  thou  art  the  Antipode  of  Youth, 

Else  its  dissembling! 
And  I  must  yield  thee  unto  Truth 

A  sacrifice    remembering 

The  long  and  weary  way 

Rehind  thee.  and  I  he  day 
^Mxhon  before      Thy  work  is  done! 
Tli. it  other  -horc  will  >ooii  be  won! 

The  en  >\\  n  is  t  hine! 

I  \\ould  'lucre  mine' 


RIDGWAY  GEORGE  ROWLEY  21 


The  Coast  Range 

Looking  down  upon  the  ocean. 

Bathing  its  rocky  feet, 
With  an  ever  easy  motion, 

That  it  ever  will  repeat ; 

'Till  the  storm  in  anger  tosses, 

The  foaming  surf-bound  waves, 

And  merchants  count  their  losses, 
And  mothers  count  their  graves. 

With  the  distant,  dim  Sierra, 

Crowned  in  eternal  snow, 
A  grim  perpetual  terror 

To  the  sunny  fields  below, 

The  dawn  of  morn  restraining, 

Hiding  the  eastern  sky, 
Theme  of  poet's  refraining, 

Whose  cragg'd  peaks  heavenward  lie 

Thou  sea-kissed  one!     the  fairest 

Of  all  the  mazy  hills, 
Enthroned  with  forests  rarest, 

Thick-set  with  sparkling  rills; 

Fields  be-spangled  with  the  glories 
Of  a  thousand  opening  flowers, 

Fit  trysting-place  for  Fairies 

Concealed  amid  thy  bowers; 

The  cabin  and  the  cottage, 

Of  the  hardy  mountaineer, 

Peeping  out  behind  the  foliage 
Of  the  vine  and  volunteer; 


22  POKTRY  AM)  I'ROSK  Sl.l.l .(    1  IONS 


The  hamlet  and  the  village 
That  glorify  thy  shore— 

The  sloping  land  of  tillage, 

Beneath  the  breaker's  roar ; 

The  lowing  herds  of  cattle 

That  browse  thy  green  hill-sides 
Yea!  thy  young  men  fit  for  battle, 

Or  to  take  home  Ixmny  brides; 

All  these  I'd  sing!  and  singing, 

Crown  mine  effort  with  the  joy, 

That  came  ringing,  ringing,  ringing, 
From  these  hills,  to  me,  a  boy! 


The  Curse  of  Speech 

Away!  Away!  I  hate  ye,  Words! 
Ye  are  to  me  like  quar'lsome  herds 
That  feed  where  stinted  pasture  grows. 
Whose  flesh  would  tempt  but  carrion  crows. 
Thou  art  but  the  shadow  of  the  thing 
Whose  substance  soul  alone  can  bring. 
Wherefore  art  thou  at  all?  what  need? 
The  sun  shines  bright — his  shade  indeed 
Rolls  o'er  the  grass  when  leafy  screen 
Its  darkened  form  would  intervene — 
But  grass  Ixjneath  a  tree  is  ix>or, 
While  sunny  shadows  on  a  fhx>r 
Serve  well  a  baby's  sport  ivi-  mood : 
A  man  should  seek  sonic  higher  good. 

A  vehicle  forsooth  ye  are 

In  which  to  carry  out  to  war 

The  gilded  deeds  and  thought  sol"  nun1 

But  tell  me!  on  the  field  what  then 

Yt   glitt ciing  chariot  >  are  \  e  North.** 

The  tinsel  trappings  of  your  birth? 


Rinr.WAY  GEORGE  ROWLEY  23 


Nay!  ye  things!  ye  but  strew  the  ground, 
And  cui  b  the  steed  in  his  mettled  bound, 
Confuse  the  charge,  delay  the  time, 
And  blunt  the  valor  of  the  line. 
Men  had  better  walk  to  battle 
Than  be  cumbered  with  such  cattle. 

The  songless  birds  that  flit  the  grove 
Are  warmest  in  their  mated  love; 
The  cooing  of  the  plaintive  pair 
Floats  sweetest  on  the  evening  air — 
The  swan  that  sits  upon  the  lake 
The  eloquence  of  grace  doth  take — 
The  chiefest  terror  and  alarm 
Comes  in  the  stillness  of  the  storm ; 
While  proud  Earth's  greatest  sublimity 
Is  in  the  silent  walls  of  Yosemitc. 

The  sign-language  of  the  deaf  mute — 
The  touching  plea  of  the  dumb  brute — 
The  eternal  silence  of  the  spheres — 
Dewy  night  with  its  flood  of  tears — 
The  soft  caress  of  the  noiseless  breeze 
As  it  nods  the  plumes  of  the  voiceless  trees- 
The  lesson  of  the  ocean-shore, 
These  simple  things  and  many  more 
Rest  in  the  chambers  of  my  soul. 
Spirit  guests  they  are,  who  ne'er  unroll 
Their  deep  intendment,  nor  rejoice 
In  the  utterance  of  human  voice. 
Dark  and  silent  as  mid-night's  hour 
They  hold  me  in  their  spell  of  power; 
Nor  would  I  break  it  for  the  curse 
Of  speech — this  to  me  is  no  release — 
My  fettered  thoughts  may  darkling  grope, 
But  loose  them  down  the  steepy  slope 
Of  free  expression,  and  quick  to  the  sea, 
With  the  herd  they  rush,  and  are  lost  to  me. 


M  POETRY   AND   I 'ROSE  SELECTIONS 


Down  deep  in  the  heart  of  man  untaught 
There  wells  a  spring  of  silent  thought ; 
So  bright  and  beauteous  is  the  fount 
Angels  its  crystal  drops  do  count . 
But  lo!  no  streams  are  spreading  there, 
The  plains  below  are  stark  and  bare, 
While  'round  the  brink  of  the  lonely  spring 
The  richest  flowers  their  odors  fling. 
Even  so  I  drink  and  drink  again  : 
Mine  is  the  pleasure,  mine  be  the  pain; 
I  will  divide  it  not,  nor  turn 
Its  streams  away,  though  parched  lips  burn 
To  sip  its  juices;  but  the  traveller  may 
Sit  with  me  and  drink  the  live-long  day. 

Words  and  Voice  of  man,  I  hate  ye! 
As  a  thief  in  the  night  come  ye 
And  steal  my  thoughts  away,  and  lose 
The  current  of  my  soul — refuse 
Me  the  ray  of  that  kindly  star 
Which  in  the  silent  night  afar 
Is  wont  to  brightly  gleam  and  shed 
Unearthly  lustre  'round  my  head- 
Away,  all  speech  and  all  expression, 
Nor  trifle  with  man's  holy  passion! 
Wrapt  in  the  glory  of  a  dream. 
Eternal  silence  is  my  theme. 

Let  soul  to  soul  and  heart  to  heart 
I  ts  each  first  meaning  thus  impart : 
Let  natural  motions  clear  convey 
The  deep  impression  swift  away- 
Let  glance  meet  glance  and  softly  yirld 
The  temper  of  its  burnished  >hic  Id 
When  hand  join>  hand  Id  >peech  In-  dumb 
And  \\onU  i-.ink  justly  to  their  tomb 
Then  mind  to  mind  will  instant  da^h 
A-  light  n  ings  through  the  heavens  flash  ; 
So  thought  gret  t  thought  but  partly  formed 


RIDGWAY  GEORGE  ROWLEY  25 


And  where  deformed  be  there  transformed ; 

Instinct  and  native  intuition 

Assume  the  place  of  false  fruition ; 

'Till  mind  shall  conquer  matter,  space, 

Aye,  meet  the  Eternal  face  to  face — 

Each  human  life  be  linked  to  each 

And  taught  what  Nature's  God  would  teach. 


In  Reverie 

Ah  me!  my  morning  reverie  is  come 

Rolled  in  the  smoke  of  burning  hopes,  I  sit 

And  breathe  their  incense;  from  their  altar's  dome 
Arise  the  ashes  of  years,  by  Time's  torch  lit. 

The  red  glow  of  the  fire-flame  I  see  not ; 

Hidden  within  their  marbled  tomb  they  burn, 
And  burn, — 'tis  left  me  but  to  mark  the  spot 

Whence  upward  dart  the  fingered  flames,  and  turn 

To  smoke — Time's  hand,  as  't  were,  of  quenchless  fire 
F^nwrought,  and  pointing  fingers  lifted  out 

Toward  Eternity.     A  funeral  pyre 

Of  cherished  hours,  of  perished  days — a  knout 

Of  bitter  years,  grouped  to  one  eternal  scourge 
Wherewith  to  lash  the  soul  in  fiery  stripes 

And  leave  it  scarred,  then  only  to  emerge 

From  out  its  thralls  of  misery  when  pipes 

The  sound  of  angel's  horn  on  mortal  ears, 

And  fall  the  cares  of  life  away  in  shroud 

Of  dust,  and  all  our  drops  of  blood  and  tears 

Are  mingled  in  one  cup  of  joy,  while  proud 

The  spirit  soars  above  its  clod  of  clay. 

Roll  on!  thou  endless  tide  of  years,  roll  on! 
Weary  of  thy  rolling?     Nay!     Endless?     Yea! 

But  not  as  to  me.     Thy  shore  I  stand  upon, 


26  POKTRV  AM)   PROS!,  SKLKCTK  >NS 


And  turn  to  view  my  foot-prints  on  the  strand. 

But  lo!  thy  licking  wave  hath  smoothed  them  o'er, 

Till  now  unruffled  lies  the  trackless  sand- 
E'en  as  the  desert  seems  thy  lonely  shore. 

Along  the  silent  current  of  my  dream 

There  floateth  many  a  thought — wrecks  of  the  past 
Dismantled  and  deserted  barks  they  seem, 

Whose  gloomy  hulls  and  broken  spars  e'er  cast 

Dark  shadows  on  the  banks  by  which  they  glide, 
Till  the  very  flowers  thereon  wither  and  die— 

And  thus  the  present  in  the  past  would  hide, 

While  'neath  our  feet  life's  cherished  blossoms  lie. 


Only  a  Little  Brook 

(A  simple  but  very  touching  incident  has  been  related  to  us,  says  the  Maine 
Press,  in  connection  with  the  last  moments  of  a  beautiful  little  girl,  in  Bath,  who 
lately  died  at  the  age  of  nine.  A  little  while  before  she  died,  as  the  sorrowing 
friends  stood  around  her,  watching  the  moving  of  the  gentle  breath,  the  last  faint 
fluttering  of  the  little  pulse,  they  became  aware,  from  broken  words,  that  she 
shrank  with  natural  dread  from  the  unknown  way  that  was  opening  before  her. 
She  had  come  to  the  border  of  the  mysterious  river  which  separates  us  from  the 
dim  hereafter,  and  her  timid  feet  seemed  to  hesitate  and  fear  to  stem  the  flood. 
But  after  awhile  her  fears  subsided,  she  grew  calm  and  ceased  to  talk  about  the 
long,  dark  way,  till  at  the  very  last  she  brightened  suddenly,  a  smih  <>t  confidence 
and  courage  lighted  up  her  sweet  face.  "O,  it  is  only  a  little  brook!"  she  cried, 
and  so  passed  over  to  the  heavenly  shore. ) 

"Only  a  little  brook!"  she  cried, 
"Only  a  little  br(X)k!"  and  died 
God  give  to  us,  as  thou  did>i  gi\e  hei  . 
Faith  to  sec  that  rolling  rivrr! 

Dark  i>  t  hi   night ,  and  wild! 

There  stands  a  lovely  child 
Down  by  tin-  shore  <>t  a  great  riser-crossing; 

The  winds  around  her  moan. 

The  ru>hing  Waters  groan 
In  woe  of  their  tempestuous  billou  -  toeing. 


RIDGWAY  GEORGE  ROWLEY  27 


A  little  woman-child! 

With  fluttering  heart,  and  mild 
In  th'  first  years  of  a  tender  infant's  knowing, 

Bathing  her  tiny  feet, 

Alone,  at  drear  midnight, 
In  the  swift  tide  of  a  fearful  river's  flowing. 

The  stars  above  her  sleep 

In  beds  of  darkness  deep, 
Nor  gleam  of  light  is  seen  her  pathway  telling; 

But  from  the  other  shore, 

Above  the  waters  roar, 
Is  heard  the  silvery  voice  of  angels  swelling. 

Mounting  unto  the  skies 

The  joyous  strains  arise, 
A  music  unrevealed  to  mortal  hearing, 

Till,  by  its  mighty  wrill, 

The  very  waves  stand  still, 
Tideless,  voiceless,  fettered,  trembling  with  fearing. 

Through  the  deep  gloom  of  night 

Swift  breaks  a  glorious  light, 
In  its  jewelled  arms  the  stream  and  shore  enfolding; 

In  magic  spell  seem  bound 

The  wood  and  rock  around, 
While  tears,  to  smiles  are  turned,  in  her  beholding. 

From  out  a  gilded  cloud 

She  hears  a  whisper  loud, 
"Oh  come,  oh  come  away,  thy  Father  's  calling! 

Thou  child  of  infant  years, 

Wrapt  in  a  mother's  tears, 
Across  the  river  come — the  water  's  falling! 

"A  hand  you  cannot  see 

Will  lead  thee  on  to  me, 
Then  come  without  thy  fears  and  hesitating!" 

That  hand  she  kindly  took — 

"Only  a  little  brook, 
Mother!  and  see  on  the  other  side  the  angels  waiting. 


I'OKTKY  AM)  I'KOSK  SELECTIONS 


When  age  doth  totter  to  the  shore 
Of  the  dark  stream  of  Nevermore, 
May  God  give  us  as  he  did  give  her, 
Faith  to  see  that  Bowing  river! 


The  Wooing  of  Nature 

On  the  high-uplifted  mountain — 

On  its  bleakest  barren  peak, 
Where  slow  drips  the  oozy  fountain 

To  the  brooklet  at  your  feet, 
Down  its  rocky  path-way  rushing, 

Stumbling  heedlessly  along, 
In  its  bright  bold  beauty  gushing, 

Uttering  oft  a  weird-like  song — 

In  the  home  of  Nature's  fondest, 

Best,  and  kindest  gifts  to  man, 
Things  sublimest,  greatest,  grandest, 

In  God's  comprehensive  plan- 
On  the  height  of  Earth's  possessions 

Towering  far  above  the  main, 
Where  the  white-winged  cloud's  processions 

Stream  swift  across  heaven's  blue4  plain 

Where  the  soul  of  man  is  nighest 

To  the  throne  of  Him  above — 
Where  the  spirit  soars  the  highest 

After  His  infinite  love — 
Where  the  very  air  about  us 

Seems  surcharged  with  crowning  joy, 
Whilst  the  heart  doth  beat  with  proudest, 

Fullest  pulse  of  fearless  joy — 

On  this  throne  of  the  Supernal, 

'Mid  the  rough  uml  rugged  lie.nl- 

( )f  m.ijotic  hills  eternal. 

I  ligh  upiv.ired  [mm  granite  bed- 


GKOR(;K  ROWLEY  29 


'Mid  the  wildness  and  the  rudeness 
Of  untutored  Nature's  self, 

Where,  primeval  in  their  goodness 
Dwell  her  sons  unknown  to  pelf — 

In  the  last  warm  kissing  glances 

Of  a  bright  and  blushing  sun, 
As  on  the  distant  wave  it  dances 

Out  its  moments  nearly  run — 
'Mid  a  scene  of  passing  glory, 

While  the  flickering  light  doth  play 
'Round  the  hill-tops  fringed  and  hoary 

With  the  locks  of  olden-day, 

Stands  alone  a  child  of  Nature, 

Pensive,  musing,  weary,  wan, 
Sad,  desponding  of  the  future, 

Gazing  out  that  scene  upon; 
Ocean  breezes,  'round  him  playing, 

Gently  chant  their  sweetest  hymns, 
Whilst  in  the  gorge  below  are  swaying 

To  and  fro  the  oaken  limbs. 

He  views  in  the  distance  glowing, 

The  blue  waters  of  the  sea, 
Like  a  curtain  downward  flowing, 

Concealing   Eternity : 
In  its  heaving  breast,  now  dying, 

Sinks  the  world's  fair  torch  of  day; — 
With  earth's  splendors  'neath  him  lying, 

Gorgeous  skies  above  him  lay. 

From  that  sea  of  sparkling  beauty, 
From  that  sky  of  golden  light, 

His  soul  inspired  with  love  and  duty 
Rises  higher  in  its  flight — 

Higher!  higher!  higher  soaring, 
Climbing  far  above  the  past, 


30  POKTRY  AM)  I'ROSK  SELECTIONS 


A  glorious  future  opens  o'er  him!— 
Nature  woos  and  wins  at  last ! 


Sweetly,  softly,  sadly  sighing, 

Murmuring  as  it  glides  along, 
Comes  the  soul  of  day,  now  Hying 

'Fore  the  night -winds  chilling  song. 
Down  the  Occident  slope  it  glideth, 

Seeking  out  its  bride,  the  Sea, 
In  the  gilded  waves  it  hideth, 

And  alone  leaves  Night  with  me. 


Remember  Us 

Remember  us! 
\\"e  charge  you  now  in  solemn  trust 

Remember  us! 
That  as  we  mingle  dust  with  dust 

Remember  us!— 

'Neath  the  palm-tree's  endless  weeping, 
And  where  cypress  vines  are  creeping 
Over  Southern  swamps,  we  are  sleeping 
In  our  graves. 

Remember  us! 
\\t  joyed  with  you,  we  sighed  with  you- 

Remembtr  us! 
We  fought  for  you,  we  died  for  you  — 

Remember  us! 

In  the  front  we  took  our  station 
For  the  Nation's  preservation, 
And  for  Freedom's  own  salvation 
When  sore 


RemrinluT  us! 

Let  thy  thoughts  of  us  ne'er  tarnish 
KrinrmbiT  us 

B\  tli,  it  bright  steel's  glittering  burnish 


RIDGWAY  GKORGk  ROWLEY  31 


Remember  us 

When  we  marched  and  never  faltered, 
Never  turned  and  never  halted 
Till  o'er  Treason's  towers  we  vaulted 
Bringing  peace. 


Remember  us! 
Under  Sherman's  glorious  banner 

Remember  us! 
From  Atlanta  to  Savannah 

Remember  us! 

E'en  the  waves  are  still  repeating, 
O'er  and  o'er,  the  joyous  greeting 
Of  that  wondrous  sea-side  meeting 
Of  our  men. 


Remember  us! 
But  then  once  more  in  solemn  thought 

Remember  us! 
How  in  the  Wilderness  we  fought 

Remember  us! 

Till  the  pine's  dull,  ceaseless  moaning 
Mingled  with  the  soldier's  groaning, 
As  he  lay  in  blood  atoning 

Another's  sins. 

Remember  us! 

We  would  not  lisp  Belle-Island's  name- 
Remember  us! 

But  only  for  our  Country's  fame 
Remember  us! 

Think  not  of  us  dead,  but  living 

In  the  spirit  near  you,  giving 

Voice  and  word  for  your  believing 
And  your  good. 


32  POKTRY  AND  PROS!.  SKLKCTIONS 


Remcml>er  us 
Then  in  your  marbled  halls  of  state! 

Remember  us 
While  pondering  there  the  Nation's  fate! 

Remember  us! 

And  cease  not  your  constant  heeding! 
See  ye  not  our  wounds  yet  bleeding 
And  that  treason  still  is  feeding 
O'er  our  graven? 

Remember  us! 
But  be  not  blind  to  things  that  are! 

Remember  us, 
That  we  with  victory  crowned  this  war! 

Remember  us, 

That  the  strife  was  not  our  making, 
'Twas  but  one  of  our  own  taking — 
What  if  traitors  now  be  quaking, 
'Tit-:  but  just. 

Remember  us 
By  the  love  we  bore  each  other! 

Remember  us 
By  the  ties  of  kindred  brother! 

Remember  us 

By  that  weeping  and  that  wailing 
W7hich  filled  the  land  with  quailing 
By  those  broken  hearts  low  trailing 
In  their  woe! 

Oh,  remember  us! 
Was  there  glory  in  that  (King? 

Then  rcin<  mber  UN 
Till  t  he  dnM  < >1  till  un  ajL^o. 
When  (  )blivi<m'>  conflict  rago 

O'er  proud  History's  gilded  pages, 

Shall  be  spread. 
And  \  (   arc  d<  ad. 


RII)C;\VAY  GEORGE  ROWLEY  33 


All  Alone 

I  sit  me  down  this  star-lit  eve 

To  ponder,  muse — aye,  weep  and  grieve. 

For  many  a  long  and  weary  day 

Hath  'rose  and  filled  and  passed  away, 

Since  kindly  hand  hath  soothed  my  fears, 

Or  wiped  away  youth's  bitter  tears. 

I'm  all  alone!  I'm  all  alone! 
My  soul  is  sad!     Earth's  joy  is  gone! 
I  look  around,  but  cannot  see 
One  winning  smile  of  love  for  me ; 
A  mother's  care,  a  sister's  tear, 
Ne'er  bless  me  whilst  I  tarry  here. 

No  gentle  fingers  deftly  sweep 

The  wooing  harp-strings  when  I  weep ; 

E'en  in  sickness  I  must  rest 

On  weary  couch,  and  not  on  breast 

Of  her  whom  I  could  call  mine  own, 

Eor  I,  alas!  am  all  alone. 

I  go  where  crowds  are  wont  to  throng, 
I  mingle  in,  am  thrust  along, 
Striving  to  feel  that  these,  my  kin 
By  Adam's  fall  and  Eve's  dire  sin, 
As  part  and  parcel  of  God's  brood, 
Will  ease  my  burden — tote  the  load- 
But  even  here  I'm  all  alone, 
I  fail  to  greet  a  single  one 
Where  love  and  sympathy  embrace 
The  kindly  features  of  their  face; 
All,  all,  seem  passionless  as  well, 
To  none  would  I  my  story  tell. 

I  turn  away  to  Nature's  haunts, 

'Mid  wood  and  wild,  far  from  the  taunts 


POETRY  AM)  PROSK  SELECTIONS 


Of  living  thing,  save  Nature's  own, 

To  find  that  still  I  am  alone; 

The  mountain's  crest,  the  murmuring  sea, 

Hath  now  e'en  lost  their  charms  for  me. 

The  very  warblers  of  the  wood. 
Seem  piping  songs  for  other's  good. 
But  I  must  wander  forth  alone, 
No  song  of  bird  or  human  tone 
To  cheer  me  on  my  lonely  way, 
Or  turn  life's  morn  to  pleasing  day. 

I  strive  to  see  a  gleam  of  light 
Breaking  through  this  hideous  night , 
But  ever,  ever,  where  I  gaze, 
I  see  but  my  heart's  own  fearful  blaze 
Burn  brightly  round  grim  despair's  throne, 
\Yhiledemonschant  "Alone!  Alone!" 


The  Demon  of  Rebellion. 

Twas  the  lonely  hour  of  twilight;  the  distant  village  bell 
Toll VI  faltering  'down  the  valley,  a  sad  and  solemn  swell ; 
As  each  billowy  sound  came  rolling,  far-spreading  o'er  the  plain, 
My  soul,   responsive  to  the  tolling,  caught   up  the  plaintive 

strain. 

Now,  startled  at  the  booming  of  Alcatraz'  minute  gun, 
Whose  sonorous  roar  came  looming  out  from  'neath  the  setting 

sun, 

Louder  filling,  swiftly  flying  across  the  murky  bay, 
Faintly  echoing,  softly  dying,  as  't  floated  far  away; 

'Mid  that  melancholy  wailing,  those  notes  of  woe  unknown. 
The  uncertain  light  fast  fading,  as  night  resumed  her  throne. 
All  animate  nature  wearing  a  garb  of  doubt  and  gloom. 
In  that  dread  hour,  whilst  peering  from   the  window  ot   my 

room. 
In  dreamy  mood,  nor -Irrpini;.  tin-  casement  raised  on  high, 


RIDGWAY  GEORGE  ROWLEY  35 


Watching  the  darkness  as  't  came  creeping  'thwart  a  starless 

sky, 

Drearily,  wearily  musing,  counting  the  mournful  chime, 
As  it  told  a  soul  was  losing  its  mortal  hold  of  time, 

In  that  dim,  mysterious  dawning,  where  the  horizon  was  yawn 
ing, 

'Twixt  a  blood-lit  sky  and  earth's  black  pall, 
I  saw  the  Demon  of  Rebellion,  leading  on  his  imps,  a  million, 

Rise  up  from  the  coverts  of  a  sulphurous  hell. 
On  his  crest  sat  plum'd  Horror,  in  his  eyes  were  gleaming  Terror 

With  deadly  hate  they  glistened,  glowed  and  burned, 
In    that   dread   vision   seeming,    gazing    toward    their   fearful 
gleaming. 

A  hissing  stream  of  flame  I  saw  where'er  they  turned. 

From  his  throat  came  gurgling,  bubbling,  as  'twere  fiend  with 

flesh  were  struggling, 

In  human  speech  yet  Demon's  voice,  as  sound 
Of  Etna  when  the  Titan  turning,  belches  forth  its  fiery  burning, 

And  hurls  the  reddened  lava  far  around. 

Oh,  God!  that  hideous  stuttering,  that  horrid  fiendish  mutter 
ing! 

E'en  now  mine  ears  are  stun'ned  with  the  din, 
Exulting,    boasting,   blaspheming,    the   air   seemed   blackened 

with  the  streaming 
Of  his  looks  of  hate,  his  words  of  gall,  so  steeped  in  awful  sin : 

"I'm  the  Demon  of  War!  the  Fiend  of  Fire!  Rebellion's  chiefest 

power! 

I  soar  to  hunt  my  foe,  and  I  will  roam 
Over  seas  of  gore  to  meet  him,  with  sword  and  with  fire  I'll 

greet  him— 

Let  loose  the  hounds  of  Hell  to  track  him  home! 
The  battle's  roar  is  harmony,  there's  pleasure  in  death's  agony 

I  love  to  feast  mine  eyes  on  scenes  of  blood, 
Where  the  sulphur  smoke  is  wreathing,  and  sabres  in  gore  are 

seething; 
There  in  joy  and  fond  delight  I've  ever  stood! 


36  I'OKTRY  AM)  I'ROSK  SKLKCTIONS 


"When  the  might  of  battle's  failing,  and  the  heart  within  me's 

quailing, 

'Fore  the  fearless  front  of  a  victorious  foe, 
From  afar  I  call  my  legions  back  to  chaos'  darkest  regions, 

And  the  gleaming  steel  of  the  assassin  show." 
Twas  thus  he  spoke,  then  striding,  onward,  upward,  as  'twere 

gliding, 

(O'er  the  pave  of  Hell  made  smooth  with  bloody  stream, 
O'er  earth's  battlements  now  vaulting,  with  scarce  momentary- 
halting, 

I  saw,  as  he  leaped,  that  steel's  deadly  gleam. 
*  *  *  * 

I  turned  away,  and  yet  again,  I  saw  another  sight, 

A  new-made  grave,  a  man,  meek,  plain, — a  spirit  clothed  in 
white. 

Freedom  at  the  head-stone  kneeled,  enwrapped  in  thought  pro 
found, 

While  Justice,  with  her  sword  and  shield,  cast  sterner  look 
around. 

Columbia's  sons  were  gathered  near,  their  eyes  upraised  to 
Heaven, 

In  attitude  of  prayer  to  Him,  whence  consolation's  given ; 

A  nation  wept  amid  its  joy,  sorrow  spread  o'er  the  earth, 

While  grief  sincere,  without  alloy,  welled  up  from  every  hearth. 


I  Would  I  Were  a  Boy  Again. 

I  would  I  were  a  boy  again , 

A  gleeful  laughter-loving  boy, 
So  free  from  trouble,  free  from  pain, 

And  caring  naught  but  for  my  toy. 
Smiling  when  my  mother  smiled, 

And  crying  only  when  she  cried— 
Give  me  the  bliss,  the  joy  so  wild 

( )f  childhood's  hour  by  grief  untried! 

Then,  never,  never,  would  I  seek 
To  reach  again  to  man's  estate; 


RIDGWAY  GEORGE  ROWLEY  37 


A  little  child  I'd  be,  though  meek, 

And  laugh  to  scorn  the  frown  of  fate. 

I  care  not  for  Ambition's  voice, 

'Tis  all  a  mock,  a  cheat,  a  snare 

To  'lure  us  on  and  then  rejoice 

O'er  withered  hopes  once  bright  and  fair. 

Oh,  give  me  back  the  cup  I  ask! 

That  I  may  quaff  oblivion's  draught, 
Forgetting  all  my  worldly  task 

Beyond  this  cruel  sphere  I'd  waft. 
Is  there  a  spot,  is  there  a  clime 

Where  youth  and  pleasure  ever  dwell, 
And  care  comes  not,  while  hoary  time 

Is  marked  not  by  the  tolling  bell? 

My  childhood's  days — my  childhood's  days 

Embodied  this,  and  so  would  I 
Turn  gladly  back  to  youthful  plays 

Nor  think  to  weep,  to  pine,  to  sigh. 
No!  tell  me  not  of  manhood's  pride, 

Of  wealth,  of  honor,  and  such  joys; 
They're  but  the  reflex  of  a  tide 

Which  ebbs  and  leaves  these  bauble  toys. 

The  green  pastures  of  youth  I  see 

Floating  weirdly  before  my  mind, 
Oh,  welcome!  welcome  thoti  to  me! 

No  joys  can  equal  these  in  kind. 
There  babbles  on  the  little  brook, 

There  stands  that  grand  old  maple  tree, 
Beneath  whose  sheltering  arms  I  took 

A  long  and  last  farewell  of  thee, 

My  father!  yes,  thou  too  art  gone 

Upon  thy  pilgrimage  afar, 
And  thou  wert  here  when  I  was  young, 

But  now  thou'rt  gone,  my  good  mama! 


38  I'OKTRY  AM)  PROSK  SKLKCTIONS 


The  golden  chords  of  home  are  broken, 

We'll  group  around  that  hearth  no  more 

Yet  in  this  breast  there  lives  a  token 

( )f  those  dear  olden  times  that  were. 

I  cannot  chide  away  these  tears 

So  let  them  flow,  'twill  ease  my  brain. 
Oh,  call  these  not  all  foolish  fears! 

Wouldst  thou  not  be  a  boy  again 
To  seek  that  peaceful,  happy  sleep, 

Which  came  to  thee  in  trundle-bed, 
Never  to  come  again  so  deep 

Till  thou  art  sleeping  with  the  dead? 

I  would  I  were  a  boy  again! 

To  roam  my  native  hillsides  o'er, 
Plucking  the  early  flowers  of  spring, 

Or  gazing  where  the  wild  birds  soar. 
I've  wandered  up  and  down  the  strand 

Full  many  a  long  and  weary  day, 
But  never  yet  have  found  a  land 

As  fair  as  home — home  when  a  boy. 


The  Rain!  the  Rain!  the  Welcome  Rain' 

The  rain!  the  rain!  the  welcome  rain! 

O'er  field  and  meadow,  hill  and  plain, 

Tis  falling  free  and  fast  again — 

By  Kolus  hither  driven — 
Tear-drops  of  a  weeping  heaven- 
<)f  health,  of  wealth  the  leaven 
To  mortals  kindly  given. 

The  earth  doth  drink  the  pn  c  i<  »u^  M  n  .mis 
Through  many  mouths,  and  still  it  seems 
She  thirsteth  yet — her  fomh  ^i  <  In-. mis 

Are  o!  llii^  cup  >ln   sips 
With  parched  and  fevered  lips — 
A  pricrlr--  draught — for  life 
(  )r  diaih  i>  in  the  strife. 


RIDGWAY  GEORGE  ROWLEY  39 


The  fields  do  leap  in  maddened  joy— 
The  hills  would  kiss  the  weeping  sky- 
Away  to  the  sea,  so  merrily, 

The  little  brooks  dance  on, 
In  frolic  and  in  fun, 
Murmuring  as  they  run 
"Ever  on!  ever  on!" 

Now,  man  and  beast  and  bird  as  well, 

Would  all  a  happy  story  tell; 

The  green  grass  cometh,  buds  do  swell, 

Speaking  of  future  store, 
Of  garners  laden  o'er, 
And  comfort  to  the  poor 
Who  sitteth  at  our  door. 

Yet,  dark!  dark!  dark  is  the  night! 

Nor  moon  nor  stars  are  giving  light — 

The  God  of  storms,  in  kingly  might, 

Abroad  doth  rule  the  hour: 
The  leaden  clouds  do  pour 
Their  quickening  torrents  down 
O'er  cottage-roof  and  town. 

The  chafing  sea  doth  beat  the  shore 

With  a  hoarse  and  sullen  roar — 

The  storm-birds  shriek,  as  inward  pour 

The  loosened  winds,  striving 
In  vain  with  flapping  wing. 
To  stem  the  driving  storm 
And  quell  their  fierce  alarm. 

Drop  by  drop  comes  the  stealthy  rain, 

Beating  against  the  window-pane, 

Beating  upon  the  roof  so  plain, 

In  soothing  sound,  and  slow 
With  music  sad  and  low, 
In  measured  time  and  deep, 
Lulling  the  soul  to  sleep. 


40  POKTRV  AM)   I'ROSK  SELECTIONS 


Andersonville 

On  the  gentle  slope  of  a  Georgia  hill 
St<x>cl  the  prison-pen  of  Andersonville; 
Twenty-four  acres  within  a  stockade — 
Twenty-four  thousand  men  in  it  arc  laid— 
To  the  acre  a  thousand  lives,  loyal  and  true, 
Like  a  field,  or  meadow,  where  corn  or  grass  grew, 
Each  acre  by  southern  husbandmen  sowed— 
The  harvest,  when  ripe,  by  death  to  be  mowed. 

Weak,  wounded,  weary,  sick,  pallid  and  starved, 
Naked  and  fainting,  their  rations  now  halved; 
Without  shelter  at  noon,  or  cover  at  night, 
Save  the  blue  vault  of  heaven,  a  God-given  right, 
They  lay  and  they  suffered,  they  sighed  and  they  moaned 
With  heat  and  with  cold  alternate  they  groaned,— 
'Mid  the  mud  and  the  mire,  the  sleet  and  the  rain, 
Twenty-four  thousand  men  wept  in  their  pain. 

A  mere  scratch  of  earth,  a  stake  for  a  sign, 
Marks  where  around  them  is  drawn  the  "dead  line," 
And  woe  be  to  him,  poor  wandering  wight, 
Who  in  anguish  of  pain,  or  dimness  of  sight , 
Approached  or  crossed  over  this  boundary  mark— 
'Twixt  Time  and  Eternity — sunlight  and  dark— 
The  hiss  of  the  bullet,  the  shriek  and  the  moan, 
Quick  told  that  another  proud  spirit  was  gone. 
***** 

Now,  all  crimsoned  with  gore,  a  pale,  white  hand 
Leads  onward  and  upward  a  skeleton  band — 
'Bove  the  clouds  they're  winding,  a  funeral  train, 
To  the  solemn  march  of  a  heavenly  strain, 
Slowly  and  silently  file  they  along — 
Twenty-four  thousand,  their  numbers  are  strong. 

As  martyrs  are  robed  in  garment-  of  white 

A  mantle  of  glory,  a  halo  of  light— 

Gleams  o'er  them,  round  them,  about  them,  above. 

Reveal i MI-  the  home  of  the  1  Iea\ enly  1  )o\  c 


RIDGWAY  GEORGE  ROWLEY  41 


Now  the  pale,  white  hand,  all  crimsoned  with  gore, 
Knocks  at  the  portals  of  the  jasper  door. 

Wide  open  it  flew — and  passed  within 

This  skeleton  band,  forgiven  of  sin; 

While  outward  and  downward,  with  Venging  might, 

Flew  the  angel  of  sorrow — the  angel  of  night ; 

Dark  and  fearful  his  course,  an  avenger  indeed, 

And  swifter  than  death  on  his  whitened  steed. 

The  grim  skeletons  saw — they  saw  and  smiled — 
'Twas  but  the  smile  of  Justice,  bland  and  mild. 
Though  the  sword  is  shattered  and  victory's  won, 
Let  Justice's  will,  not  Mercy's,  be  done; 
Then  shall  Wirtz  die,  and  memory  live  to  sing; 
"Death  unto  them  whom  death  to  others  bring." 


The  Mourning  Dove  of  California 

Oft,  amid  stillness  most  profound, 
With  naught  of  living  thing  around, 
Save  self,  and  horse,  and  faithful  hound, 

I've  stood  at  close  of  day, 
On  mountain  top  or  desert  plain, 
And  heard  repeated  'gain  and  'gain 
A  mournful  melancholy  strain, 

Till  summer's  light  grew  gre> . 

The  cooing  of  the  mourning  dove 
As  't  sings  its  plaintive  song  of  love 
To  feathered  mate  while  perched  above 

On  leafless  bough  or  limb — 
In  accents  deep,  and  clear,  and  low, 
A  touching  music  in  its  flow, 
As  the  wild  echoes  come  and  go — 

A  weird-like,  solemn  hymn. 


42  POETRY  AND  PROSE  SELECTIONS 


The  sadness  of  that  lone  refrain 
Doth  fill  my  very  soul  and  brain— 
I  would  not  hear  it  e'er  again, 

Yet  still  it  comes  once  more ; 
The  wakening  of  that  plaintive  voice 
Can  hush  the  heart  that  would  rejoice, 
E'en  as  the  song  of  Eurydice 

In  melting  murmurs  pour. 

As  from  the  mountain's  deep  ravine, 
Where  sweeps  along  the  pearly  stream, 
There  comes — the  minstrels  all  unseen, 

Music,  strange,  unknown, 
Floating  on  the  midnight  air, 
Borne  by  gentle  breezes  fair, 
The  song  of  an  unearthly  pair, 

In  tender,  wooing  tone; 

Or  when  from  distant  leafy  grove- 
Bright  stars  and  silvery  moon  above— 
The  harp  doth  weep  its  song  of  love 

In  low  and  murmuring  mood- 
Sweet  whisperings  from  the  spirit  land— 
The  soul  doth  feel  their  magic  wand, 
As  gently  touched  by  fairy  hand— 

This  syren  of  the  wood. 

E'en  Silence  self  doth  seem  to  start , 
As  pierced  by  subtle  arrowy  dart, 
And  from  herself  were  fain  to  part 

In  abrupt,  moody  way, 
When,  from  the  mountain's  barren  side, 
At  early  dawn  or  even-tide, 
The  cooing  of  this  mournful  bride 

Doth  call  her  groom  away. 


RIDGWAY  GEORGE  ROWLEY  43 


Ambition 

The  time  has  come,  thou  unknown  one, 
When  thou  must  tell  me  who  thou  art! 
Years  agone,  a  homely  youth,  thou  didst 
Knock  at  my  life's  door,  I  opened 
Unto  thee  and  bid  thee  welcome! 
When,  tearing  off  thine  outer  robes, 
Thou  didst  reveal  a  form  as  fair 
As  ever  won  a  Juno's  love. 
I  gazed!  of  more  than  mortal's  state 
I  deemed  thee,  so  finely  wrought  in 
All  the  graces  that  charm  the  soul 
Or  fill  the  human  eye  with  faith! 
Thou  didst  dine  with  me,  sup  with  me, 
Aye!  made  mine  home  and  hearth  your  own ; 
And  on  one  winter's  night,  the  grim 
Storm  King,  with  his  embattled  hosts, 
Raging  relentless  war  without, 
While  we  within,  around  the  blaze 
Of  oaken  log,  sat  cosily, 
Didst  tell  the  story  of  thy  wrongs; 
How  a  great  Cardinal,  beneath 
Whose  roof  thou  wast,  in  dying  rage, 
Cursed  thee  and  sent  thee  forth  to  starve! 
How  good  men  turned  thee  from  their  doors 
And  called  thee  "Wretch!  Accursed  of  Earth!" 
Whilst  I,  in  simple  innocence, 
Did  wonder  so  that  this  could  be, 
Resolved,  the  more  to  shield  that  form 
From  further  woes  and  suffering. 

Oft  some  pleasing  tale  thou  'dst  tell, 
Of  sea,  and  land,  of  towns  and  men  ; 
E'en  as  you  spoke,  those  fancied  scenes 
Were  spread  upon  the  walls  of  my 
Imagination,  till  all  aglow, 
And  wrapt  in  the  spell  of  thy  story, 
I  drew  still  closer  to  thy  side, 


44  I'OKTKY  AM)   I'ROSK  SKLKCTIONS 


To  drink  in  every  word,  and  watch 

The  changes  of  that  winsome  face 

So  animate  with  expression — 

Night  after  night  'twas  thus,  until 

I  was  made  all  thine  own,  and  naught 

But  that  sweet-sounding  voice  could  please 

Mine  ear!     Then  it  was  thy  story 

Changed.     From  silvery  flute-like  notes, 

As  soft  and  low  as  Syren's  song. 

Quick  came  a  trumpet-blast!  a  fierce 

Sounding  call  of  a  bugle  horn! 

Winding  through  my  echoing  heart 

Till  its  deepest  chambers  were  filled — 

From  quiet  fields,  and  purling  brooks 

Along  whose  banks  stood  peasants'  cots, 

Embowered  in  fragrant  flowers,  and  love, 

Swiftly  was  I  carried  along 

The  strong  current  of  thy  sailing 

To  find  myself  'neath  strangest  skies; 

With  all  that  dreamy  softness  gone 

From  sun  and  sun-lit  cloud!   I  saw 

Around  strange  forms!     No  comrades  of 

My  youth!     Whilst  thoughts   tumultuous  whirled 

Like  meteors  o'er  my  brain,  until 

My  very  soul  was  filled  with  doubt 

Of  my  own  mortal  existence! 

I  turned  to  thee, 

But  lo!  How  amazing  changed  wert  thou 
From  that  first  night  I  took  thee  in 
To  my  house,  and  home,  my  heart  and  all! 
With  wand  of  fire  you  waved  a  name 
Upon  the  vault  alx>ve,  and  bade 
Me  read,  and  told  me  how  men  climbed 

To  reaeh  thai  gilded  /one  where  stretched 

Wide  fields  of  jjory  and  of  fame! 
I  hen  didst  thou  show  me  battle-fields, 
And  bade  me  list  to  music  made 

l>\  the  groans  of  dying  men ;  anon. 


RIDGWAY  GEORGE  ROVVLKV  45 


A  horse  and  rider,  likened  to  me, 
Charged  through  smoke  and  blood  to  victory! 
Telling  me  that  'tis  thus  men  climb 
To  reach  that  glittering  name  above. 

Another  scene — -a  student's  form, 
At  midnight's  darkest  hour,  alone, 

With  glimmering  light,  low  bending  o'er 
The  lettered  tokens  of  a  past, 
Whose  burning  words  of  eloquence 
Do  thrill  the  modern  heart  and  page, 

Conning  the  problems  of  the  soul, 
Of  life,  of  matter,  and  of  mind, 
Until  the  founts  of  life  refuse 

Another  vital  drop  to  ooze! — 
E'en  thus,  thou  saidst,  that  men  do  climb 
To  reach  that  glittering  gilded  zone 
Where  fields  of  fame  and  glory  lie! — 
Still  other  visions  'rose;  and  now 

Thou  unknown  one!  quick!  tell  me  who 

Thou  art,  and  whence  thy  magic  power! 
Or  by  my  soul,  I'll  stifle  thee! 
Whether  born  of  Hell  or  Heaven 
Say  on!  else  light  to  night  will  turn 
To  thee!     No  more  thou  'lit  sweep  the  skies 
With  wand  of  demon's  power!  no  more 
Sing  Syren  songs  to  lure  men  on 
To  a  deep  and  damned  destruction! — 
Or  art  thou  of  that  other  part, 
Brighter  than  thy  showing;  whose  inner 
Life  would  e'en  dazzle  mortal  sight 
With  purity  of  its  purpose? 
But  angel  or  demon,  I'll  know 
Thee  now,  tell  me  thy  name!  thy  name!— 
"Proud  mortal!  this  is  all  thou  'lit  know, 
"In  Heaven  and  Hell  I  am  as  one ; 
"On  Earth  could  I  be  more!  then 
"List  to  my  name — it  is  'Ambition!'  ' 


46  I'OKTRY  AM)   I'ROSK  SELECTIONS 


No  Rest 

I  love  the  mountain's  storm! 

I  love  the  fierce  wild  night ! 
'Mid  terror's  loud  alarm, 

When  storm-kings  bitter  fight 

I  laugh  to  hear  their  roar!— 

I  joy  in  all  the  strife 
Of  elements  at  war, 

With  pleasure  deep  as  life! 

No  tame  sunshine  for  me! 

No  quiet  simple  hour! 
Give  me  the  raging  sea 

With  its  majestic  power! 

Give  me  the  old-bird's  cry 

Around  its  eyrie  home, 
When  eaglets  seek  to  fly 

Above  the  mountain's  dome! 

I  love  the  hunter's  horn 

When  pants  the  weary  hind!- 

A>  ;*i.ilr>  >\\vrp  madly  on 

There's  music  in  the  wind! 

When  rolls  the  thunder-drum 
Of  Heaven's  artillery  car 

And  Storm -Kings  cry  "We  come!" 
I  answer  back,  ha!  ha! 

Give  me  the  rock-bound  coast 

Where  waves  dash  mountain  hi^ 

And  in  their  angry  boast 

Would  sweep  the  stars  from  sky! 

Give  me  ruin  on  the  lam  I! 

Give  me  ruin  on  tin-  wave! 
H'en  Mich  trom  Nature's  hand 

My  spirit  wild  would  crave. 


RIDGWAY  GEORGE  ROWLEY  47 


The  Fog- Bell  of  Alcatraz 

In  solemn  numbers, 
'Mid  the  slumbers, 

Of  the  town, 

Tolls  the  Bell  of  Alcatraz,  out  o'er  the  sea. 
On  the  slippery  pavement  of  the  deep 
Slow  glides  that  saddening  swell — 

Not  a  white-fingered  spray 
Uplifts,  its  course  to  stay- 
Smooth  as  a  marbled  floor,  so  quiet  lay 
The  unruffled  waves,  lulled  into  sleep 

By  the  gentle  song  of  the  Island-bell. 

The  blue  mid-night, 
In  starless  light, 

Kisses  the  blue  and  placid  sea,  yet  weeps  to  feel 
One  ray  of  lamp, 
As  in  pity, 
From    the    City, 
Upon  its  damp 
And  dark  cold  bosom  steal. 

The  Golden-Gate  of  the  Occident  lies  ope — 
Its  portals  wide  are  thrown — a  watery  slope 
Glides  downward  to  the  sea,  the  eternal  sea, 
And  all  is  lost  in  its  immensity!— 

Far  out  on  the  wave 

The  mariner  brave 
Lists  to  the  voice  of  the  speaking  one; 

O'er  the  deep  'tis  borne 

Like  a  winding  horn, 
E'en  to  the  cliffs  of  the  Farallone — 


As  on  mine  sorrowing  ear  slow  fell 
The  tuneful  echoing  of  this  bell, 
Sweeping  over  the  silent  deep, 
And  over  the  silent  couch  of  sleep, 


1'OKTRY  AND  PROSK  SELECTIONS 


And  over  the  island,  and  over  the  bay 
Where  white-winged  ships  like  phantoms  lay, 
The  night-air,  laden  with  its  toll, 
Flung  its  burden  o'er  my  soul 

'Till  my  heart  was  bound 
In  its  mournful  sound 
And  the  pent-up  memories  of  years  did  roll. 

'Twas  there,  where  the  white-winged  ships  lay  dreaming. 
That  as  they  lay,  it  seemed — if  this  is  seeming— 
The  full  oared  boat  of  fancy  steered  its  way 
Betwixt  dark  hulls  and  masts,  and  night's  dismay, 
Far  out  upon  Time's  mighty  deep, 
Alone,  with  all  the  world  asleep 
On  ship  and  shore, 
While  evermore 
That  bell  tolled  on  and  on  in  it's  wondrous  pealing. 

Oh  Memory!  Memory! 
Stirred  by  the  deep  melody 
Of  this  solemn  mid-night  music, 
Thou  comest  like  a  soft  zephyr  from  the  sea 

And  greetest  me! 

In  thy  warm  refreshment  am  1  made  a  child  again, 
While  in  the  tender  arms  of  night  I  fall  and  weep  my  woe! 
The  moss  of  years  is  torn  from  this  bleeding  heart, 
Young,  fresh,  and  naked,  its  throbbing  pulses  start 

Into  life's  first  purity— 

And  to  thee,  sweet  sounding  bell!  to  thee  alone  I  owe 
This  fond  enchantment — with  its  spell  upon  my  brain 
I  would  live  alway,  live  to  quaff  the  pleasing  cup 
Of  these  unutterable  emotions;  nor  yield  it  up 
'Till  the  waters  l>;-ar  a  fainter  knell, 

A  funeral  dirge,  from  th.-  Maud-Bell. 


RIDGWAY  GEORGE  ROWLEY  49 


Wooed,  Won  and  Lost! 

Yes,  gently,  softly  break  the  news  to  her — 
She  is  my  wife,  and  once  I  could  not  stir 
But  in  the  circle  of  her  life  and  love. 
I  knew  no  other  world ;  I  wanted  none 
Save  when,  few  years  ago,  I  wooed  and  won 
Her  to  whom  you'll  bear  my  dying  prayer, 
Yes,  tell  her  gently  I  am  dead! — above 
A  whisper  lisp — no  more ;  'tis  true  it  will 
Not  wring  her  heart,  nor  cast  an  icy  chill ; 
Upon  her  soul ;  'twill  quickly  pass  away! 
But  she's  my  wife;  unto  her  I  did  swear 
'Fore  the  holy  altar,  and  the  high  priest 
Of  God,  in  solemn  oath  and  plighted  faith, 
To  cherish,  love,  as  long  as  life  might  last. 
I'll  keep  my  vow  'till  memories  of  the  past 
No  longer  tarry  on  my  weakened  brain. 
I  long  for  the  oblivious  draught  of  death ; 
Not  that  I  may  with  this  departing  breath 
Breathe  out  mine  own  release  from  sacred  vow, 
But  that  these  bitter  recollections  may 
No  more  recall  woman  s  inconstancy. 

I  loved  with  all  my  strength,  and  wooed  and  won 
'Mid  the  extatic  joy  but  felt  by  one 
Who  deems  that  love  requited  turns  again 
Its  passioned  stream  unto  an  ardent  soul. 
Love's  fetters  round  my  very  life  did  roll 
Their  welcome  links;  the  music  of  the  spheres 
Did  seem  in  harmony  to  blend  their  chime 
With  the  merry  tinkling  of  my  own  heart. 
Oh,  the  illusion  of  love's  happy  time! 
How  soon,  alas,  to  vanish  and  to  part! 

Once,  did  I  say,  that  thou  wert  dear  to  me? 
And  why  not  now?  oh,  tell  me  where  and  how 
I  lost  the  love  thou  once  professed  for  me! 
My  sight  is  blind,  perhaps,  with  worldliness 
And  with  selfishness.     I  may  have  wronged  thee. 


50  I'OKTRY  AM)  1'kOSK  SELECTIONS 


S|x»ak  out,  my  wife,  and  tell  me — is  it  so? 
Again,  as  oft  before  thou  sayest,  "  No," 
Oh,  rather  would  I  hear  theL>  tell  it  "  Yes." 
Than  this  cold  apathy  and  indifference! 
It  stingeth  like  a  viper  into  my  soul ; 
Can  I  with  love  thy  spirit  ne'er  control.-' 
(irant  me,  at  least,  this  little  toon  I  ask, 
The  respect  and  fealty  of  a  loyal  wife; 
This  to  thee  should  e'er  be  a  grateful  task, 
Not  a  burden  imposed  upon  thy  life! 
Oh,  God!  and  is  't  for  this  I  loved  so  well? 
Did  my  proud  bosom  with  emotions  swell 
Only  to  be  stifled,  withered,  crushed, 
Like  flowers  'neath  the  feet  of  a  lawless  child ; 
( )r,  as  spray  upon  the  billow's  crest,  brushed 
Away  by  the  winds  of  a  woman's  fancy? 

Unloved,  unhonored,  unwept  for,  1  sought 
Relief  from  the  thraldom  my  misery  brought, 
This  is  why  I  am  here,  and  why  I  am  dying 
Afar  from  my  wife;  on  a  weary  bed  lying 
And  telling  thee  the  story  of  my  wrong. 
But,  oh  that  I  could  hear  once  more  that  song 
She  sung  so  sweet  to  me  in  days  of  yore! 
Methinks  I  hear  those  strains,  now  evermore 
To  float  upon  the  air  and  fill  my  brain 
With  their  soft  dreaminess;  and  still  again 
I  see  thee,  my  wife,  thou  art  come  at  last! 
Too  late!  too  late!  my  earthly  minutes  fast 
Are  waning!  I  have  not  time  to  forget, 
Forgive  I  do.     I've  nothing  to  forgive; 
Rememlxjr,  wife,  man's  love  doth  ever  livel 
Cicxxl  night!  farewell!  we  may  be  happy  yet, 
Across  the  river,  on  that  other  shore. 
Where  woman's  constancv  dwells  evermore . 


RIDGWAY  GEORGE  ROWLEY  51 

"Lay  Me  Down  and  Save  the  Flag" 

— Col.   Mulligan. 

Where  in  the  wide  world's  longest  day 
Did  Bard  e'er  scribe  a  holier  lay? 
The  valiant  cry,  "On,  Marmion,  On!" 
Shall  not  outlive  our  "Mulligan," 
When  o'er  the  turf  his  men  did  drag, 
Cned,  "Lay  me  down  and  save  the  Flag." 

Pride,  Country,  Honor,  all  held  dear 
By  man  or  saint  was  echoed  here : 
The  pulse  of  life  is  ebbing  low, 
Earth's  green  sod  is  stained  with  flow 
Of  reddened  stream,  but  still  he  cried, 
Oh,  "Lay  me  down  and  save  the  Flag." 

"Old  Glory,"  'neath  foul  treason's  feet 

Was  not  a  sight  his  eyes  could  meet ; 

Now,  rising  'bove  all  earthly  pain, 

He  rallies  on  his  men  again 

With  words,  well  worth  a  Freeman's  brag, 

Of  "Lay  me  down  and  save  the  Flag." 

A  traitor  grasps  its  sacred  fold ; 

Oh,  may  the  story  ne'er  be  told, 

We  fled  from  where  our  banner  stood! 

But  let  it  first  be  drenched  in  blood, 

O'er  it  shall  float  no  rebel  rag, 

Go!  "Lay  me  down  and  save  the  Flag." 

Oh,  when  in  coming  peaceful  years 
Our  children  read  through  eyes  of  tears 
The  history  of  their  country's  woes, 
While  struggling  with  intestine  foes, 
They'll  fling  the  shout  from  crag  to  crag 
Of  "Lay  me  down  and  save  the  Flag." 

That  glorious  chant  will  rise  and  swell 
From  field  or  town  where  Freemen  dwell ; 
The  starry  night  shall  hear  it  ring 
From  maiden's  voice,  or  lute,  or  string, 
The  spirit  of  the  Past  shall  brag 
In  "Lay  me  down  and  save  the  Flag." 


52  I'OKTRY  AND  PROSK  SKLKCTIONS 


Where  First  We  Met 

Though  sadly  touched  with  loves'  regret, 
Still  memory  holds  it  fondly  yet 
That  is  was  by  the  sea  we  met. 

And  as  I  ponder,  fresher  still, 

Without  an  effort  or  a  will. 

Until  my  sentient  frame  does  thrill. 

Returns  that  olden  scene.     'Tis  now 
Some  years,  yes,  many  years  ago, 
\Vhen  Time  was  running  limp  and  slow 

And  mocking  youth  laughed  merrily, 
That  she  and  I  met  by  the  sea— 
And  thus  it  was  with  her  and  me — 

Yet  may  my  story  have  its  way 
In  passing  order,  nor  delay 
To  tell  of  that  eventful  day 

Beginning  with  the  morning  beam 
That  threw  its  golden  glance  o'er  stream 
Of  ocean  wide,  'till  it  did  s<-(  m. 

In  its  placid  glory,  a  dancing  pave 
For  watery  nymphs,  so  unlike  a  grave 
Beneath  whose  marbled  surface  lave 

The  wave-tossed  bones  of  him  who'd  make 
The  elements  to  yield  and  take. 
I'nto  himself,  for  Victory's  sake, 

The  sea-weed  crown  and  coral  throne. 
Such  was  the  sea!  and  yet  did  moan 
Along  the  rocky  shore,  and  groan 

With  the  unutterable  agony 
Of  a  suffering  Divinity 
O'er  its  conscious  ct(  rnit\ 


RIDGWAY  GEORGE  ROWLEY  53 


Such  was  the  morn!  so  calm  and  bright, 
With  its  pure  ether  buoyant  and  light 
As  the  spirit  of  youth  itself,  while  Night, 

Receding  in  the  west  afar, 

Held  sway  by  one  pale  glowing  star 

Alone.     No  zephry  e'en  did  mar 

The  stillness  of  the  wave  or  sky. 
'Twas  an  orient  shore,  and  low  did  lie 
The  dripping  sun;  the  sea-gull's  cry 

Not  yet  had  waked  the  morning  air ; 

The  sleeping  shore  looked  wondrous  fair — 

Twas  here  and  now  we  met — a  pair 

By  love's  quick  instinct  each  to  each 
Other  known — nor  could  time  e'er  teach 
Us  more — the  morn,  the  sea,  the  beach 

Told  all  too  well  her  soul  was  mine 
And  mine  was  hers ;  and  hearts  entwine 
Where  souls  do  meet,  at  love's  own  shrine. 

And  thus  we  gazed  upon  the  sea ; 
And  I  on  her  and  she  on  me 
Cast  looks  of  deepest  sympathy; 

Joy  in  my  soul  did  rise  to  feel 

There  was  one  other  that  could  steal 

Away  from  the  world,  and  sleep,  and  kneel 

In  homage  before  Nature's  throne, 
Adoring  the  beautiful — so  did  she  own 
By  this  same  deed  that  she  had  grown 

To  an  exalted  womanhood. 

Oft  on  the  mountain  had  I  stood, 

Or  in  the  deep,  dark  tangled  wood, 


54  I'OKTRY  AM)  I'ROSK  SHLKlTIOXS 


And  sought  the  spirit  of  the  place  to  yield 
Me  one  fair  being  that  could  wield 
The  shaft  of  love  so  well  no  shield 

Might  save  my  heart — but  all  was  vain. 
The  leveled  dart  but  brought  a  pain 
Unto  my  heart,  and  blood  like  rain 

Might  flow  from  out  the  wound,  but  still 
Untouched  the  heart,  nor  woman's  will 
Could  reach  it,  nor  a  single  thrill 

Of  woman's  love  pervade  it — now 
'Twas  changed — down  by  the  sea  a  vow 
Of  deathless  love  was  given,  and  oh,  how 

Freely  given! — and  yet  I'd  almost  said 

'Twas  still  in  vain — e'en  so — for  ere  we  wed, 

She  whom  I  wooed  and  won  by  the  sea,  was  dead. 


Baby-Life 

Pure  and  fresh  as  a  mountain  stream, 
But  gentle  as  an  evening  dream, 
Amid  its  mothers'  milk  and  song 
So  flows  our  baby-life  along. 

The  rosy  hue  of  morn  is  here 
Upon  the  baby's  cheek  or  ear— 
The  fading  splendors  of  the  day 
In  its  heart -winning  smile  do  lay. 

With  love  and  liberty  its  shrine 
Its  mother  thinks  it  half  divine; 
Nor  wonder,  for  what  c.in  o  >ni|  >aiv 

\\iih  babv's  eves,  or  baby's  hair. 


RIDGWAY  GEORGE  ROWLEY  55 


And  tender  as  the  dews  of  night, 
And  fair  as  morning's  dawning  light, 
And  richer  far  than  Ophir's  wealth 
Is  our  baby's  life,  our  baby's  health. 


The  stately  oak  in  the  acorn's  heart 
In  miniature  is  found — nor  part 
Is  wanting — there,  leaf,  limb  and  form, 
As  when  the  fury  of  the  storm 
Beats  on  the  full-grown  tree,  nor  less, 
Are  seen — 'tis  Nature's  deep  impress— 
The  Man  is  stamped  upon  the  Child, 
Though  form  and  feature  are  more  mild. 

The  pride  of  years  may  from  this  germ 

Unfold,  but  ne'er  increase  its  term— 

The  substance  of  its  quantity 

May  change,  but  not  its  quality— 

Whether  white  with  hoar,  or  vernal, 

The  soul  is  changeless  and  eternal ; 

Years  can  not  span  it,  nor  days 

Confess  it,  but  same  are  all  its  ways. 

I  would  not  in  this  much  conceit 

Of  fuller  time  deem  tiny  feet 

May  not  impress  the  sod  as  deep 

As  mine,  according  to  their  keep. 

I'd  fain  believe  that  the  deep  sense 

Of  wondrous  life  is  most  intense 

In  the  infant  soul ;  the  deep  compress 

Of  endless  time  is  here,  nor  less, 

As  when  the  close-shut  bud  does  hold 

The  fairest  leaves  that  fairest  flowers  unfold 

The  silence  of  the  infant  heart 

Is  broken  not — nor  words  impart 

The  deep  unuttered  instinct,  bound, 

As  the  heavens  hold  the  thunders'  sound 

Before  the  spark  is  given — I  dare 

Not  seek  to  know  how  full  the  share 


5<>  I'OF.TKY  AND  I'ROSK  SELECTIONS 


Of  infant  knowledge  is,  lest  shame 
Taunt  me  of  man's  estate  and  name. 
OVr  philosophy,  bark,  hack. 
I  anxious  stretch  my  thoughts  and  wrack 
My  soul  to  know  the  secret  spring 
Which  touched,  or  when,  or  how,  does  bring 
Immortal  life  from  naught,  but  vain! 
Tis  unfathomable — and  yet  again 
The  supreme  source  of  Divinity,— 
The  duration  of  Eternity — 
Such  things  on  which  to  ponder  make 
Men  mad,  and  sense  and  reason  take 
From  their  throne  and  down  to  ruin  hurl, 
All  these  unto  the  infant  soul 
I'd  leave,  believing  that  from  the  fount 
Of  life  alone,  such  inspirations  mount. 
Nor  would  I  trifle  e'en  with  one 
Just  brought  to  life  and  light,  nor  run 
The  venturous  chance — nearer  by  far 
Is  that  little  life  unto  the  star 
Of  our  nativity  than  mine- 
Its  brightest  beams  upon  it  shine, 
While  deep  in  th'  glow  of  night  I  stand, 
Far  reaching  for  my  Maker's  hand 
But  feel  it  not — so  deep  my  fears 
That  in  the  coming  lapse  of  years, 
Perhaps  when  time  itself  is  gone 
And  all  of  mortal  things  is  done, 
That  baby -one,  now  grown  to  speech, 
Remembering  still,  shall  to  me  teach 
A  lesson  of  humility— 
And  of  the  soul's  docility— 
Before  the  throne  of  Heaven,  and  Heaven's  King. 


RIDGWAY  GEORGE  ROWLEY  57 


II  Penseroso 

I  cannot  sing  for  thee  tonight, 

My  harp  is  out  of  string  and  poor ; 

But  could  my  soul  in  tearful  flight 
A-wing  its  way  unto  thy  door — 

Could  Melody  on  sweeping  wing, 

Bear  up  and  on  this  heavy  heart, 

Then  might  it  open  forth  and  sing 

Such  strains  as  Orpheus'  self  could  start. 

The  quivering  air  should  outward  swell 
The  'wakened  music  of  my  soul, 

And  Earth  and  Sky  and  Nature  tell 

What  currents  'neath  this  bosom  roll. 

I  would  there  were  unto  this  breast 
A  window  wide,  such  vision  clear 

That  human  eye  could  pierce  the  nest 

Where  brood  my  passions  dark  and  drear. 

No  more  the  silent  woe  would  seek 
To  hide  in  this  its  wonted  place ; 

No  more  a  human  heart  would  reek, 

And  by  its  blood-spots  leave  a  trace. 

Oh  Melancholy!  the  contempt'ous  churl 
Can  mock  the  spirit  that  would  feed 

Thee  from  its  hand,  and  fondly  twirl 

Thy  sable  plumes — the  funeral  weed 

Of  other  hearts,  but  not  of  mine. 

Life!  Love!  Joy!  vanish  all! 
But  one  lone  star  of  hope  shall  shine 

For  me;  and  this,  beneath  the  pall 


5s  POETRY  AM)  PROSE  SELECTIONS 


Of  night  and  gloom,  with  constant  ray, 

Forth  from  the  deep-set  vault  of 'Heaven, 

Like  Bethlehem's  star,  shall  point  the  way 
Where  new-horn  Faith  itself  has  risen. 

'Tis  Sorrow's  torch,  and  by  its  light 
I  see  the  plains  of  earth  bestrewed 

With  won'drous  truths,  so  living  bright 

Like  glittering  pearls  they  seem,  bedewed 

With  tears  of  night — and  one  by  one 
I  gather  them,  sweet  boon  denied 

To  mortal  kind  save  him  alone 

Who  lives  to  love  this  pensive  bride. 


By  the  Sea 

Upon  the  bright  and  shining  sand, 
The  white  sea-sand,  I  mean, 

That  lines  the  ocean-shore,  I  stand 
And  gaze  upon  the  scene. 

The  morning  opes  its  misty  eyes 

Upon  a  waking  world — 
Swift  o'er  the  waters  darkness  flics, 

Before  Aurora  hurled. 

Now  'mid  the  cliffs  and  mountain  peaks 
That  fringe  the  orient  shore, 

The  mellow  light  of  morning  seeks 
A  golden  flood  to  pour. 

It  raineth  down  upon  the  wave, 
It's  glittering  glories  show 

The  deep  recesses  of  the  grave 
Dark  fathoms  down  below. 


RIDGWAY  GEORGE  ROWLEY  59 


Come  forth,  my  soul!  the  beating  sea 
Now  calls  thee  from  thy  tent, 

The  stirring  roll  of  its  reveille 

To  the  mountain-tops  is  sent. 

E'en  up  the  mountain  of  my  soul, 

In  deep  prophetic  voice. 
The  thundering  seas  climb  on,  and  roll 

The  volume  of  their  noise. 

The  eternal  call  of  years  is  here—- 

Who  answer?     Children  of  men 

Thy  response  is  brief!  and  then  appear 
But  sinking  forms — and  then? 

Oh  then — the  wild  waves  sweep  along, 
The  dark  night  comes  once  more. 

New  morning  breaks,  and  still  that  song 
Is  cast  upon  the  shore. 

Ye  jutting  cliffs!  that  outward  stretch 
Your  beaten  fronts  to  sea. 

Methinks  that  ye  in  profile  sketch 
Are  likened  unto  me, 

Or  me  to  you — the  surging  deep 
So  foams  and  eddies  'round, 

Its  tides  in  every  crevice  creep 

And  waste  the  yielding  ground. 

As  from  the  distant  deck  the  watch 
Close  scans  the  night-bound  sky. 

'Tis  only  thus  that  he  may  catch 
Thine  outline  on  his  eye. 

So  'twixt  the  light  of  sky  and  earth 
Man  looms  to  measure  just, 

He  rises  to  a  higher  birth 

And  leaves  behind  his  dust. 


60  I'OKTRY  AM)   I'KOSK  SKLK(T1<>\^ 


Ye  tireless  and  unceasing  sea! 

In  a  nook  upon  thy  shore, 
Close  by  thy  side.  I'd  dwell  with  thee, 

Forgetting  all  things  more. 

The  ripples  of  thy  waves  should  count 

The  moments  of  my  life — 
Thy  mighty  self  should  Ixj  the  fount 

Whence  flows  a  balm  to  strife. 

Thou  should'st  yield  up  the  things  that  are 

Of  Nature's  mystery— 
E'en  by  the  light  ot  Evening's  star, 

Intense  I'd  study  thee. 

Thy  drift  upon  the  beach  I'd  scan 

And  cull  thy  science  out- 
Yea!  learn  from  thee  far  more  of  man 

Than  man  has  yet  found  out. 

Oh,  there  should  come  unto  my  soul 
Such  knowledge  sweet  as  blind 

Philosophy  did  ne'er  unroll 
To  one  of  mortal  kind. 

'Tis  in  the  salt-sea  brine  the  key 

Of  Nature's  Chemistry 
Lies  hid ;  say  not  'tis  not  for  me 

To  find  it  out,  oh,  sea! 

The  monotone,  whence  comes  all  sound 

Of  music  sad  or  sweet, 
In  thy  rebounding  wave  is  found, 

And  in  thy  bass  we  meet. 

The  (ienius,  which  kindles  at  the  fire 

Of  heavenly  song  until 
The  ecstatic  blaze  consuim •>  ilu  lyre 

Whose  touch  was  wont  to  thrill 


GEORGE  ROWLEY  51 


With  all  pervading  sympathy 
The  immoi  tal  part  of  man — 

(E'en  as  high  Heaven's  own  symphony 
Through  all  its  arches  ran  )— 

From  that  quick  phosphorescent  flash, 
Oh  Sea!  that  skims  upon 

The  surface  of  thy  waters  as  they  dash 
In  foam,  and  then  is  gone, 

Receives  its  best  and  kindliest  spark. 

But  now  the  glowing  sun 
And  the  'tiring  song  of  the  spotted  lark 

Tell  me  my  walk  is  done. 


Victory  is  Peace 

Hail,  happy  Peace,  all  hail  to  thee! 
Thy  youthful  form  once  more  we  see 
Crowned  with  garlands  of  victory, 

All  hail,  all  hail! 

Our  country's  night  of  dark  despair 
Hath  passed  away  for  evermore, 
The  golden  light  of  morn  is  there — 

Oh,  welcome  morn! 

Each  Patriot's  heart  with  hope  beats  high 
For  Treason's  death-knell  soundeth  nigh ; 
Columbia  echoes  back  the  cry, 

Victory!  Victory! 

The  starry  flag  goes  marching  on, 
The  bright  emblem  of  Freedom's  sons, 
To  tell  of  battles  fought  and  won — 

Our  Starry  Flag! 


62  POKTRY  AM)  PROSK  SELECTIONS 


In  land  where  nought  but  Freemen  dwell, 
The  Soldier's  grave  marks  where  he  fell 
Facing  the  fire  of  treason's  hell, 

Of  Treason's  hell! 

A  holy  cry  doth  reach  our  ear, 
Made  sacred  by  the  orphan's  tear 
And  widow's  sigh — 'tis  coming  near, 

Oh  hear!  Oh  hear! 

"Beloved  land  of  Liberty, 
We  fought  and  bled  and  died  for  thee; 
Keep  honored  now  our  memory— 
Our  memory! 

"Nor  let  the  roll  of  drum  e'er  cease 
Till  conquered  Traitors  sue  for  peace- 
Wit  h  victory  there  cometh  Peace— 

Victorv  is  Peace!" 


Passion-Song 

Away!  Away!  Away!  thou  cursed  One! 
I  know  thee  not.  Go  hence!  I  would  be  done 
With  thee  forever!  Did'st  say  "I  know  thee  not?" 
Then  draw  I  back  these  words  all  hissing  hot 
Betwixt  my  teeth,  and  struggling,  swallow  whole. 
Yea!  I  know  thee  well — too  well — and  by  my  soul 
I'll  tell  whereof  I  know!     And  this  it  is, 
In  sum  and  substance,  knowledge  drawn  from  years 
Sojourned  with  thee  in  all  thy  moodsand  ways 
And  various  attitudes,  and  nights  and  (lay- 
Spent  here  beneath  the  Sun— 

And   yet.    I    fear 

That  now,  as  Reason  backs,  and  Passion's  tear 
Sub^ido.  I  may  not — ought  not — cry  aloud 

Mv  \\»»r  in  human  car:   but .  'ncath  the  cloud 


RIDGWAY  GEORGE  ROWLEY  63 


Of  its  own  dark  affliction,  rest  it  silent 
And  alone,  and  bear  with  it,  and  be  content; 
Suffering  to  nurse  it  darkling  to  my  breast, 
E'en  as  a  viper  coiled  in  th'  birdling's  nest, 
And— 

But  no!  I'll  clutch  it  from  me  and  hurl 
The  slimy  thing  back  to  its  kind ;  then  twirl 
My  envenomed  fingers  'twixt  the  hoary  locks 
Of  Time,  to  cleanse  them  well,  and  pile  the  rocks 
Of  Oblivion  on  the  den  of  this  fearful  thing, 
No  more  to  crawl  and  twine  about  and  sting 
The  trusting  heart — 

And  yet,  as  now  again, 
In  the  vision  of  my  hot-heated  brain 
I  see  thee!  horrid,  livid,  as  before; 
And  the  memory  of  my  wrongs  knocks  at  the  door 
Of  Reason ;  the  empty  tenement  echoes 
Back  the  sound,  hollow-ringing  as  the  throes 
Of  Death  hurled  'gainst  the  buried  coffin-lid! 

Oh  God!  and  was't  for  this  my  young  life  bid 
Me  walk  'mongst  Men,  rejoicing  in  my  Youth, 
And  Spirit's  strength,  confiding  in  the  Truth 
That  dwelt  within  me — believing — loving— 
Toward  him,  yea!  I  admit  it,  toward  her,  turning, 
Seeking  that  sweet  solace  of  the  soul 
Which  love,  and  human  love  alone,  can  roll 
In  gentle  stream  through  human  heart — the  crumb 
Of  Passion-bread,  from  loaf  wrhich  Christ,  dumb 
With  eloquent  silence,  broke  at  his  feast  of  love! 
Manna  from  Heaven,  to  feed  Earth's  starving  Dove! 

Oh  Love!  Youth's  Love!  Age's  Love!  and  Love  of  all 
The  Human  Race,  that  'neath  the  stars  do  call 
Each  other  brother,  sister,  husband,  wife, 
I  cannot  pass  thee  by  until  the  life 


64  POKTRV  AM)   PROSK  SKLKCTIONS 


Within  me  is  wrung  to  find  some  fitting  measure 

To  express   this   burning   thought,    this   marvellous 

pleasure 

That  consumes  me  like  unto  a  liquid  Hame 
Poured  o'er  my  brain,  and  writes  the  deathless  name 
Of  Love  o'er  all  my  being!  Blind  though  I  be, 
Yet  willing  so,  to  outward  things,  I  see 
'Twixt  Heaven  and  me  one  only  messenger, 
And  that  is  Love!  Love  came  a  passenger 
Along  with  Life  and  me,  when  I  was  born, 
And  ever  since — 

Ah,  my  heart's  flesh  has  been  torn 

By  conflicting  passions,  fruit  of  seeds  not  of  my  sowing 
Not  of  my  nursing,  not  of  my  knowing; 
But  of  yours!  aye  yours!  theme  of  my  discourse; 
My  Hate  for  thee  I'll  speak  until  this  hoarse 
Voice  can  no  longer  sound  the  bitter  word. 
Then  shall  its  lingering  echo  still  be  heard 
Ringing  down  the  grooves  of  Time  for  aye  and  aye, 
'Till  Life  and  Soul  bid  each  a  long  good-bye. 


Night 

Come,  Night,  and  spread 

Around  my  head 
Thy  mantle's  sable  fold! 

I'd  lift  mine  eyes 

Toward  darkest  skies, 
Nor  light  of  day  behold! 

I  do  rejoice 

When  human  voice 
Is  hushed  in  midnight's  hour. 

I'd  breathe  the  sjK'll 

Ol  silence  well, 
And  yield  me  to  its  power. 


RIDGWAY  GEORGE  ROWLEY  65 


The  awful  mystery 
Of  life's  eternity 

Seems  wrapped  in  Night's  embrace. 
Earth's  joy  and  misery, 
And  death's  philosophy, 

Are  here  met  face  to  face. 

First-born  of  heaven! 

Chaos  was  riven 
To  give  thee  kingly  birth— 

On  sea  and  land 

Thy  throne  did  stand ; 
And  worlds  proclaimed  thy  worth. 

Imperial    One! 

Thou  wert  undone 
By  treachery  dire  and  deep ; 

For  mortal's  tears 

And  doubts  and  fears 
Resolved  thy  realm  to  sleep. 

And  yet  a  few 

Tried  ones  and  true 
Confess  their  souls  to  thee! 

Nor  light  of  day 

Can  e'er  gainsay 
Their  immortality. 


Lines  to  a  "Kloochman" 

Sweet  nymph!  although  of  duskier  hue  thou  art 

Than  other  maidens  brought  from  Eastern  climes, 

To  thee  I  yield  the  tribute  of  my  love, 

To  thee  I  dedicate  these  humble  rhymes; 

And  if  too  faint  I  string  my  trembling  lyre 

Great  Pocahontas!  thou  my  muse  inspire! 


(.(.  I'OKTRY   AM)   1'ROSK  SKLKCTIONS 


Long  time,  whilom,  I  thought  the  pallid  cheek 
And  blue  eyes  smiling  like  the  sky  at  morn, 

With  auburn  curls  and  fingers  rosy  tipped, 

Comprised  all  beauty  that  of  earth  was  born; 

But  other  charms  exceeding  all  of  these 
I've  found  at  last  on  far  Pacific's  seas. 

Where  Puget  Sound  its  placid  waters  spread, 
And  Steilacoom  uplifts  its  bosky  shore, 

Paddling  the  light  canoe,  the  maid  I  met 

Whose  modest  graces  did  enchant  me  more 

Than  all  the  pictures  fair  by  poets  wrought 

In  golden  dreams  or  raptured  words  of  thought . 

A  fairy  form,  around  whose  shoulders  twined 
A  blanket  red,  so  gracefully  and  meet 

That  one  did  soon  forget  the  holes  it  bore,  ' 

In  gazing  downward  toward  her  tender  feet; 

Oh  cruel  fate!  to  thus  expose  to  view 

Limbs  of  Ireauty,  though  slightly  turned  askew. 

From  raven  locks  the  sunny  light  doth  gleam, 
As  moon-beams  shine  afar  from  glassy  pool 

Of  dark  asphaltum,  or  petroleum  spring, 

Where  boreth  on  the  hopeful  "He  struck"  fool, 

E'en  thus  with  dog-fish  oil  resplendent  shone 

My  maiden's  tresses,  ne'er  to  comb  yet  known. 

A  mild  but  fishy  odor  'round  her  clung, 

As  from  the  deck  of  Ochotsk  cod-fish  craft 

There  'scends  full  visibly  a  nasal  twang, 

And  o'er  the  poop  floats  gallantly  abaft; — 

Cologne!  and  eau  de  vie\  a  vaunt !  away! 

I'd  smell  thee  not  on  shores  of  Pugtt  Bay. 

And  thus  thou  art,  far  in  thy  savage  home. 

Where  Chinook  wigwam  looks  o'er  waters  blue 
Whose  custom  'tis  to  spear  tin-  speckled  fish 

And  smoke  them  wlu-n  t  hou  'si  nothing  else  to  do, 


RIDGWAY  GEORGE  ROWLEY  67 


For  huckleberries  are  a  watery  food, 

And  clams  and  oysters  are  not  always  good. 

But  though  thou  smellest  strong  of  salmon  dry— 
'Though  innocent  of  soap  thy  limbs  appear — 

'Though  smeared  with  dog-fish  oil  thy  jetty  locks, 
And  flat  thy  skull  from  frontal-bone  to  rear, 

Yet  Indian  maidens  still  are  loved  it  seems 
As  "Minnehaha"  in  Longfellow's  dreams. 

Then  give  me  but  a  blanket  and  a  spear — 

Dried  clams  and  fish  my  only  grub  shall  be— 

My  only  home  a  half-upturned  canoe- 
Whisky  my  drink,  and  love  alone  for  thee ; 

Then  fair-haired  dames  for  me  will  vainly  shine 
In  all  the  charms  of  hoops  and  crinoline. 

By  Sitkum  Siwash,  Esq. 


My  Island 

Where  the  murky  Mokolumne  quickly  divides, 
And  sends  its  dark  waters  to  meet  the  sea  tides, 
That  here  ebb  and  flow  yet  a  little,  no  more, 
The  pulse  of  old  Ocean  afar  from  its  roar, 

Rests  an  island,  the  Queen  of  those  emerald  isles, 
That  sparkle  like  gems  'neath  the  day's  sunny  smiles, 
Set  in  sheen  of  bright  silver,  a  wealth  yet  untold, 
Worth  more,  California!  than  all  your  bright  gold 

Dug  from  hill-side  or  mountain,  or  scraped  up  from 

plain, 

A  hundred  times  over  and  over  again! 
For  here  is  the  solid,  the  long  lasting  wealth 
That  brings  life  and  good  comfort,  and  cheer  and  good 

health 


68  I'OKTRY  AND  PROSK  SELECTIONS 


To  proud  sons  and  fair  daughters,  the  children  of  men, 
Born  and  unborn  for  generations  to  come ; 
Whilst  the  poor  breed  of  men  who  are  delving  for  gold, 
Who  have  bartered  their  life,  and  with  it  their  soul, 

Shall  never  succeed  to  estate  of  their  own 

To  be  handed  down  to  their  children  full  grown; 

For  posterity  ceases,  dried  up  in  their  loins — 

And  here  are  their  losses,  but  where  are  their  gains? 

Now,  back  to  my  Island  I  rapidly  flee! 
Away  with  thee,  Mammon!  thou'rt  nothing  to  me! 
Were  it  not  for  thy  gilded  and  glittering  show 
That  baffles  and  blinds  us  wherever  we  go, 

I'd  mention  thee  not,  but  for  ever  and  aye. 
Refraining,  disdaining,  pass  hurriedly  by, 
And  sing  of  my  Island,  its  proud  sycamores, 
Its  vine-covered  willows  that  garland  its  shores— 

The  green  arching  columns  that  twine  o'er  the  river, 
Interwoven  with  flowers,  all  blessing  the  giver 
WTith  the  prayer  of  their  bright  and  beautiful  eyes, 
Raised  smiling  aloft  towrard  heaven's  blue  skies— 

The  wide-stretching  meadow,  so  fragrant  and  fair, 
With  its  blossoming  clover  perfuming  the  air — 
The  kine,  that  so  curious  peer  over  the  brink 
At  the  stranger  there  kissing  the  waters  they  drink— 

The  myriad  warblers  that  fill  all  the  air 
With  the  cooing  and  billing  of  each  mated  pair, 
Love's  sweet  chorus  swelling,  'till  the  morn  and  the  eve, 
Delighted,  long  tarry,  unwilling  to  leave- 
But  that  miserable  shadow  e'en  followed  me  here: 
I  tell  it  in  honor,  repentance  is  near; 
Let  the  loss  and  the  stain  be  all  of  my  own, 
I  ask  for  no  pity,  I  give  it  to  none! 


RIDGWAY  GEORGE  ROWLEY  69 


I  thought  that  afar  from  the  hum  of  the  town, 
In  quiet  seclusion  I'd  settle  me  down. 
I  found  this  the  fairest,  the  loveliest  spot, 
Of  all  that  my  travels  had  shown  to  me  yet. 

From  the  Coast  to  the  centre,  and  back  to  the  Sea, 

Santa  Cruz,  Santa  Clara,  and  far  Monterey, 

With   their   mountains  and   valleys,   and   wide   fertile 

plains, 
Their  forests  and  prairies,  and  orchards  and  vines, 

Ne'er  gave  me  the  promise,  ne'er  sated  my  joy 
With  more  of  real  pleasure,  and  less  of  alloy — 
So  wild  was  its  beauty,  so  fresh  and  so  glad, 
That  my  spirit  forgot  it  ever  was  sad. 

Here  methought  I  would  build  a  low  humble  cot, 
Adorn  it  with  flowers,  thus  make  me  a  grot 
To  hide  in  forever,  and  from  its  retreat 
Go  forth  the  Mokolumne's  waters  to  greet 

With  the  bared-breast  that  loveth  to  dip  and  to  glide, 
Seeking  fair  water-nymphs,  or  whither  they  hide, 
'Till,  finding  a  spirit  congenial  as  fair, 
We'd  o'er  the  smooth  waters  together  repair — 

Our  skiff  with  the  current  goes  floating  along, 

Whilst  the  shores  stand  and  listen  to  Love's  sweetest 

song. 

The  dying  day  quivers  on  the  faint  rippled  stream — 
Oh,  is  this  but  seeming?  Is't  naught  but  a  dream? 

No!  No!  She  is  here,  and  her  hand  is  in  mine ; 
Now  I  feel  her  heart  beat,  I  see  her  eyes  shine ; 
Her  long  loosened  hair  floats  over  the  railing 
Into  the  river!  'Tis  a  boat!  and  we're  sailing 


70  I'OKTRY  AND  I'KOSK  SELECTIONS 


On,  on,  'neath  the  stars  that  come  out  from  the  night, 
And  twinkle  and  twinkle  their  keen  eyes  so  bright; 
The  music  of  waters  keeps  time  to  our  flow 
As  the  boat's  tiny  keel  parts  the  wavelets  l>elow. 

***** 

'Tis  enough,  Oh  my  Island!  thy  purpose  is  done! 
From  the  World's  false  inducements  forever  I'm  won! 
I  have  found  in  thee,  Nature!  a  balm  for  my  soul, 
Thy  pleasures  alone  in  rich  volume  shall  roll 

O'er  and  o'er  me  the  Waters  of  Life  to  the  fill, 
And  my  spirit,  so  restless,  at  last  shall  be  still. 
But,  alas!  and  alas!  for  my  new  founded  hope, 
O'er  the  sward  of  that  meadow  it  soon  did  elope! 

"Sweet  clover  is  sweeter  when  made  into  hay" 
So  came  the  fond  tempter  and  told  me  one  day ; 
I  listened;  and  listening,  sufficed  for  my  fall, 
Then  vanished  my  Island,  my  Kden,  and  all! 


The  Sea  of  Years 

The  old  year's  dead !  let  it  be  dead ! 

The  corpse  is  cold,  the  spirit  gone, 
Its  life  is  out,  the  soul  has  fled, 

Nor  let  us  weep,  nor  let  us  mourn! 

Around,  and  'round,  and  still  around 
The  years  glide  on — an  endless  sea 

Striving  in  vain  wit  h  heaving  Ixnmd 
To  reach  the  shores  of  Kternity. 

Its  angry  billows  toss  and  moan — 

'Fore- winds  of  Time  they  >|><-<-<l  away; 

\\a\v  after  wave  comes  rolling  on, 

Karh  wave  a  year,  each  \  rar  a  day. 


RIDGWAY  GEORGE  ROWLEY  71 


And  thus  the  years  do  come  and  go, 

While  mortals  from  a  changing  shore 

E'er  count  the  pulses,  as  they  flow 

And  wash  the  beach  of  Nevermore. 

As  sands  upon  that  tide-set  beach 
Are  watered  by  the  ebbing  sea, 

So  Time,  this  human  life  doth  reach, 
And  drifts  it  off  from  you  and  me. 


The  Revenge  of  Encina 

Oh!  Maid  of  Milpitas, 

Come  over  and  meet  us 
'Neath  the  palms  of  the  "Quad"  of  the  L.  S.  J.  U. 

The  Maid  of  the  Robles 

Is  made  of  the  noblesse, 
Too  stiff  and  too  starch  for  me  or  for  you. 

Oh!  give  us  a  fairy, 

Though  fresh  from  a  dairy, 
II  she  will  but  skip  it  and  trip  it  along. 

Away  with  the  proud  ones ; 

We'd  rather  have  loud  ones, 
To  while  away  time  in  the  dance  and  the  song. 

So,  Maid  of  Milpitas, 

'Tho'  your  feet  are  as  big  as 
That  girl's  from  Chicago,  we  don't  care  a  boo; 

With  complexion  the  fairest, 

And  lips  ripe  and  rarest, 
Yes,  Maid  of  Milpitas,  we're  ready  to  woo. 

But,  oh!  Maid  of  the  townie 

That  every  poor  clownie 
Burlesqueth  its  name  in  torturing  mood, 

Come  out  and  come  over 

To  Mayfield's  sweet  clover, 
And  we'll  sue  you  and  woo  you  for  all  that  is  good 


72  POETRY  AND  PROSE  SELECTIONS 

The  Freedman's  Hymn — Four  Million  Freemen  More 

Air — "Three  Hundred  Thousand  More." 

We  are  coming,  Father  Abra'am,  four  million  Freemen  more — 
From  South  Carolina's  glowing  fields,  from  Texas' farthest  shore ; 
We  leave  our  galling  chains  behind,  the  brutal  whip  and  block, 
The  wreeping  and  the  wrailing  that  uprose  from  every  flock, 
To  meet  thee,  and  to  greet  thee,  on  that  bright  and  shining 

shore, 
We  are  coming,  Father  Abra'am,  four  million  freemen  more! 

Behold  us  on  the  hill-tops  stretched  toward  a  Southern  sky, 

In  the  early  dews  of  morning,  as  the  mists  ascend  on  high, 

( lathered  'round  those  family  altars,  where  husband,  child  and 

wife. 

Would  offer  up  a  sacrifice  to  that  devoted  life — 
To  him  who  broke  our  shackles  off — bid  us  be  slaves  no  more — 
We  are  coming,  Father  Abra'am,  four  million  freemen  more! 

Thou  hast  made  us  men  among  ye — e'en  as  in  days  of  old, 
Christ  said,  "Suffer  these  to  come  unto  me;  they  are  of  my  fold," 
So  thou,  "with  malice  toward  none,  with  charity  for  all," 
In  that  "Great  Emancipation,"  the  poor  black  race  did'st  call; 
And  we  are  coming,  we  are  coming,  looking  hopefully  before ; 
We  are  coming,  Father  Abra'am,  four  million  freemen  more! 

Where  blooms  the  whitest  cotton,  and  where  stands  the  tallest 

cane 

That  sheds  o'er  Southern  hill-side,  or  waves  o'er  Southern  plain, 
Thou  wilt  find  a  little  cottage — the  freedman's  home  is  there — 
Oh,  come  tarry  with  us,  stranger,  partake  our  cheerful  fare, 
Hear  the  welcome  of  our  little  ones,  now  grouped  around  the 

door; 
We  are  coming,  Father  Abra'am,  four  million  freemen  more! 

From  out  the  hours  so  wear'some  of  a  dark  and  hideous  night, 
There  came  a  voice,  so  still,  so  small,  which  said,  "Let  there  be 
light," 


RIDGWAY  GEORGE  ROWLEY 


73 


"And  there  was  light,"  which  turned  the  darkness  to  an  en 
during  day— 

Thou  hast  lived  for  us,  died  for  us, — we  would  not  stay  alway — 

Our  hearts  are  broken  pitchers  at  the  fount  our  souls  would 
pour; 

We  are  coming,  Father  Abra'am,  four  million  freemen  more! 

"Long  and  weary  years  I've  served  thee, — oh  white  man  let 

me  go," 

Cried  the  aged  slave  amongst  us,  with  beard  of  whitened  snow- 
E'en  as  that  poor  man's  soul  went  up  and  found  a  heavenly  rest, 
From  earthly  toil  and  grief  and  pain,  upon  our  Savior's  breast, 
So,  to  meet  thee,  to  greet  thee,  on  that  bright  and  shining  shore, 
We  are  coming,  Father  Abra'am,  four  million  freemen  more! 


THE  AUTHOR 

At  18 


74  POETRY  AM)   I'KOSK  SKLKCTIONS 


Oh,  Who  is  Afraid  to  Die? 

Oh,  who  is  afraid  to  die? 

Tis  true  that  life  has  many  charms, 
There's  pleasure  in  her  ways; 

We  fain  would  keep  from  grim  death's  arms 
And  lengthen  all  our  days, 
Yet  who  is  afraid  to  die? 


Oh,  who  is  afraid  to  die? 

A  glorious  sight  our  setting  sun, 
The  rising  silver  moon  ; 

Bright  visions  'long  our  path  may  run, 
With  summer  flowers  strewn, 
Yet  who  is  afraid  to  die? 


Oh,  who  is  afraid  to  die? 

Though  through  life's  garden  many  a  stream 
Of  nectar'd  honey  winds, 

\Vhile  love  and  light  upon  us  gleam, 
And  fond  arms  doth  entwine, 
Yet  who  is  afraid  to  die? 


Oh,  who  is  afraid  to  die? 

Though  Beauty  sits  upon  her  throne, 
Apollo's  very  self, 

And  laurels  'bout  our  brows  are  crowned. 
Ambition's  glorious  pelf, 
Yet  who  is  afraid  to  die? 


Oh,  who  is  afraid  to  die? 

While  on  the  battle's  bloody  field 
A  wounded  soldier  lay, 

His  comrades  'round  him  gailu  red  near 
To  look  on  wild  deal  h'-  play. 
Oh,  who  is  afraid  to  <li<  .' 


RIDGWAY  GEORGE  ROWLEY  75 


"Oh,  who  is  afraid  to  die?" 

He  cried  in  tones  so  weird,  so  clear, 
Had  you  or  I  been  there 

We  sure  had  thought  a  spirit  near, 
And  so  did  all  declare, 
Oh,  who  is  afraid  to  die? 

"Oh,  who  is  afraid  to  die? 

Come  near,  my  boys — I  love  you  all, 
But  one  far  more  I  love; 

Give  this  to  her — tell  her  I  fall 
With  spirit  unsubdued, 
Oh,  who  is  afraid  to  die? 

"Oh,  who  is  afraid  to  die? 

I  left  her  at  my  country's  call ; 
She  was  to  be  my  bride. 

But  at  the  beat  of  Freedom's  roll 
I  strapped  my  sword  to  side, 
Oh,  who  is  afraid  to  die? 

"Oh,  who  is  afraid  to  die? 

'Twixt  love  and  country  then,  my  boys, 
I  quickly  did  decide, 

For  all  things  else  are  but  as  toys 
Compared  with  country's  pride ; 
Oh,  who  is  afraid  to  die? 

"Oh  who  is  afraid  to  die?" 

His  pallid  cheek  grew  paler  still, 

His  pulse  beat  as  a  thread, 

His  comrades  heard  his  whispering  will 

As  they  bent  o'er  the  dead, 

"Oh,  who  is  afraid  to  die?" 


76  POKTRV   AM)   I'ROSK  SKLK(TIONS 


"Oh,  who  is  afraid  to  die?" 

You'd  thought  (I  said)  a  spirit  near; 
There  was  a  spirit  there ; 

And  ran  you  ask  it  without  fear 

\YImsi'  >|)irit  't\va>  \v,i^  llu-tv.' 
"Oh,  who  is  afraid  to  die?" 

"Oh,  who  is  afraid  to  die?" 

An  answer  comes  from  depths  of  spare, 
'Tis  glorious  to  hear, 

The  spirit's  wings  fan  o'er  my  face, 
'Tis  coming,  nearer,  near — 
"Oh,  who  is  afraid  to  die?" 

"Oh,  who  is  afraid  to  die?" 

An  echoing  voice,  so  clear,  I  hear, 
I  cannot  tell  from  where — 

'My  name  is  Freedom,  do  you  fear 
To  die  when  I  am  there?' 
Oh,  who  is  afraid  to  die?" 


RIDGWAY  GEORGE  ROWLEY  77 


HIS  SISTER— ROMAIN  C. 

(deceased) 


Twilight  Reflections 

The  sun  is  sinking  in  the  sea, 

The  shades  of  night  are  coming  fast, 
My  thoughts  alone  are  left  with  me, 

Why  will  they  ever  bring  the  past 

Before  me  as  a  mirror  bright, 

In  which  I  see  my  childhood's  days 
Reflected  back  in  brilliant  light, 

Subduing  all  the  milder  rays 

Of  the  lamp  of  maturer  years, 

Whose  flame  I  trim  as  best  I  can, 

Yet  may  not,  'cause  of  doubts  and  fears 
See  half  so  well,  though  now  a  man? 


78  TOKTRY  AM)   I'ROSK  SELECTIONS 


E'en  now  the  stars  are  peeping  through 
The  scroll  of  Heaven,  and  as  I 

Gaze  into  that  ethereal  blue, 

(God's  emblem  of  Eternity) 

I  feel  within  a  lonely  sense 

Of  fear,  of  want,  of  hope,  of  love, 

Hound  each  to  each  with  innocence 
Of  all  that  may  be  far  above. 

Yet  in  yon  group  of  Pleiades — 

In  that  bright  star  so  pure,  so  fair-- 

Methinks  I  see  a  smile  for  me, 

From  lips  of  one  gone  evermore. 

Gone  evermore!  gone  evermore! 

Oh,  well-a-day,  that  this  should  be; 
Gone  evermore!  gone  evermore! 

My  God!  who  now  is  left  to  me? 

She's  gone!  she's  gone!  she  would  not  stay ; 

I  tried  in  vain  to  catch  her  breath, 
I  clasped  her  hand,  I  called  her  name, 

She  loosed  my  hold — stiff,  cold,  in  death 

Her  form  receded,  disappeared, 

And  kind  oblivion  shut  the  view; 

But  this  was  heaven  now  to  me, 

Beside  the  hell  just  then  gone  through. 

Yes,  tell  me  who  is  left  me  now? 

Oh,  whisper  quick,  I  faint  to  hear! 
I  seek,  I  strive,  I  look  around, 

There's  none  to  love  like  a  sister  dear. 

Be  calm,  be  still,  my  troubled  heart . 

The  moon  is  rising  o'er  the  hill ; 
She  comes  a  herald  in  the  dark 

To  bring  thee  tidings  of  good  will. 


RIDGWAY  GEORGE  ROWLEY  79 


A  flood  of  light  spreads  o'er  the  vale, 

Tis  streaming  from  each  silvery  brook 

That  winds  its  merry,  blithesome  way 

Down  grassy  glade,  through  flowery  nook. 

And  so  upon  my  weary  soul 

There  falls  a  light  from  Heaven  above, 
'Tis  streaming  from  the  tears  that  roll 

Upon  a  breast  once  full  of  love 

For  one  who  was  of  mortal  clay, 
But  now  translated  to  a  sphere 

Where  night  comes  not,  but  endless  day 
Reigns  throughout  the  eternal  year. 


I 


n  ^ 


RIDGWAY  GEORC.E  ROWLEY  si 


A  Successful  Surprise 


Mr.  Ridgway  Rowley  of  South  Cortland  was  treated  to  a 
surprise  on  Saturday  last  by  his  relatives  in  this  vicinity.  It  had 
been  so  carefully  planned  that  twenty-seven  of  the  relatives  had 
assembled  at  the  old  Rowley  homestead,  where  Mr.  Rowley  lives, 
before  he  discovered  that  anything  unusual  was  happening.  Mr. 
Dan  Rowley  held  him  in  conversation  at  the  barn  until  all  were 
assembled,  when  they  announced  their  presence  by  ringing  bells 
and  blowing  horns,  and  Mr.  Rowley  came  in  to  see  what  was  wrong. 
He  received  the  surprise  gracefully  and  at  once  proceeded  to  per 
form  the  full  duty  of  a  host.  The  ladies  who  had  engineered  the 
surprise  had  provided  bountifully  and  a  dinner  followed. 

It  was  a  very  enjoyable  reunion.  So  many  of  the  Rowley 
family  have  not  been  together  in  many  years.  The  relatives  pres 
ent  were:  Mr.  and  Mrs.  A.  P.  Rowley,  Miss  Louise  Rowley  and 
Mr.  and  Mrs.  Wilbur  Sanders  and  sons  of  South  Cortland,  Mr.  and 
Mrs.  Daniel  Rowley  of  McLean,  Mrs.  Chester  Wickwire  and  sons, 
Mr.  and  Mrs.  Hilton  Rouse,  Mrs.  Anna  Rowley,  Mr.  Clayton  Row 
ley,  Mrs.  Andrew  Van  Bergen,  Miss  Florence  Van  Bergen,  Mrs. 
Charles  E.  Sanders,  Miss  Carrie  Sanders,  Mrs.  Dayton  Beach, 
Mrs.  Prudence  Rowley  all  of  Cortland;  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Louis  L. 
Waters  and  daughter  of  Syracuse,  Mr.  E.  J.  Page  of  Syracuse, 
who  was  a  guest  of  Mr.  A.  P.  Rowley,  was  also  present. 

Mr.  Charles  Wickwire  photographed  the  group,  amid  much 
merriment,  and  great  things  are  expected  from  the  development  of 
the  plate. 


82 


POKTRY  AM)   PROS!.  SKLK(  TH>\s 


THE  AITHOR 

At  an  age  when  he  refused  to  further  court 
the  muses;  they  wouldn't  respond. 


His  Niece, 
FLORENCE  VanBEI«.l.\ 


Christmas  Memories 


"I  wish  you  a  Merry  Christmas, 

And  a  Happy  New  Year, 
A  pocket  full  of  money, 

And  a  cellar  full  of  l>eer." 

This  was  the  Christmas  morning  greeting,  Mr.  Kditor,  when  I 
was  young,  and  happy  was  that  youngster  who  could  thus  first 
salute  his  companions  on  this  merry  morn.  Oh  dear,  dear!  how  one 
wishes  he  were  a  little  boy  again,  or  a  little  girl,  or  a  little  anything. 
so  as  to  be  only  little  and  young!  How  an-  we  old  folk-  going  tot  n- 
joy  Christmas?  Pshaw!  As  one  passes  by  the  toy  shops  and  gaily 
tin*  d  u  | »  \\  indow-  of  our  Christmas  decorated  stores,  ami  sees  there- 


RIDGWAY  GEORGE  ROWLEY  83 


in  the  little  peeping,  piping,  paper  parrots,  the  little  squatting, 
squealing,  squalling  squirrels,  the  wee,  white,  woolly,  whistling 
whiffets,  the  red,  ro welled,  rumpled  roosters,  the  many  mounted, 
mimic  moving  monkeys,  and  the  chittering,  chirping,  chattering, 
chick-a-dee-dees  all,  all  remind  us  but  too  forcibly  of  days  lang  syne, 
when  we  too  were  young  and  received  our  inspirations  from  even 
such  little  things  as  these,  toys,  which  we  would  now  in  our  greater 
wisdom  spurn  aside  in  utter  contempt. 

Visions  of  Santa  Claus,  or  as  we  were  wont  to  call  him  Kriss 
Kringle — with  his  merry,  round,  red  face,  his  jingling  bells,  his  furs, 
his  sled,  his  tiny  deer,  and  above  all  his  well-filled  pack — coasting 
over  the  housetops,  diving  down  the  chimney  flues,  and  filling  our 
well  selected  long  stocking,  so  carefully  hung  up  in  a  conspicuous 
place — are  now  once  again  conjured  up  from  the  depths  of  our  mem 
ory,  upon  the  tablets  of  which  this  impression  was  so  vividly  and 
joyfully  stamped  that  the  lapse  of  years  cannot  efface  it.  It  may 
be  that  the  pleasing  remembrances  of  these  our  youthful  joys  are 
now  enhanced  by  the  mellowing  influence  of  time;  that  from  this 
standpoint  of  view  of  maturer  years,  surrounded  by  far  greater 
trials  and  vexations,  we  see.  in  the  dim  distance,  as  its  first  rays 
gently  creep  up  the  eastern  slope  of  life,  the  rosy  morn  of  youth, 
begirt  around  with  naught  but  rich  and  gorgeous  skies,  athwart 
whose  blue  and  gilded  folds  there  flit  no  clouds,  there  steal  no  shad 
ows,  to  mar  the  beauty  of  the  scene,  or  cause  a  pang  of  sorrow  or 
regret.  But  still,  it  seems  as  though  the  Christmas  morn  of  the 
early  days  of  our  childhood  had  more  of  unalloyed  pleasure,  more 
of  unfeigned  joy,  more  of  real  delight  of  existence  concentrated 
within  its  few  brief  hours,  than  could  be  pressed  into  the  measure  of 
many  years  of  this  after  experience. 

Who  cannot  recall  the  pleasing  time  when  his  or  her  childish 
belief  in  Santa  Claus  was  undisturbed  by  doubts  or  fears?  And 
how,  in  later  years,  when  the  pleasant  fiction  was  revealed  to  us, 
we  were  almost  sorry  we  knew  the  truth,  more  willing  and  better 
satisfied  to  abide  in  the  faith  and  trust  of  our  childish  belief  than 
to  have  it  so  rudely  torn  from  us  by  unthinking  age.  We  were 
loth  to  part  from  our  progenitor  of  the  Christmas  morning  delight. 
Cakes  and  candies  from  home  had  lost  their  charm.  Mother's  gifts 
were  not  so  good  as  Santa  Claus.  And  then  our  wonder  and  anx- 


84  1'OKTRY  AM)   I'ROSK  SKLKCTK  )\S 


iety  to  know  how  he  could  get  down  the  chimney  with  his  pack; 
and  our  futile  attempts  to  keep  awake  to  witness  his  coming,  and 
how  the  cracking  of  the  frost  in  the  old  house  walls,  would  awaken 
us  and  arouse  our  excited  fancies  to  an  alarming  pitch,  and  though 
ever  so  anxious  for  a  look,  yet  we  dare  not  venture  one,  and  so 
smothered  our  fears  under  the  bed-clothes. 

I  said  ''thoughtless"  for  I  deem  it  cruel  to  take  away  from  chil 
dren  this  pleasing  and  harmless  belief  in  an  old  "gray-beard"  who 
loves  to  dispense  good  things  amongst  them.  For  soon  enough 
comes  the  stern  realization  that  the  fiction  of  their  fancy  cannot  be 
replaced,  and  that  age  and  childhood  are  separated  by  a  gulf,  which, 
once  crossed,  becomes  forever  impassable.  Soon  enough  comes  "a 
change  o'er  the  spirit  of  their  dream,"  and  they  awake  to  find  the 
"dream"  of  their  childhocxl  gone,  the  spirit  of  their  youthful  fancies 
vanished  into  thin,  cold  air,  and  the  temper  of  the  joy  of  their 
Christmas  days  weakened  by  the  flame  of  burning  years.  Let  the 
children  have  their  Santa  Claus  with  his  Christmas  trees  and  gifts. 
Do  not  break  in  upon  the  sanctity  of  their  childish  affections  with 
the  careless  remark  or  jesting  taunt  of  riper  years.  For,  after  all, 
it  is  but  too  often  the  spirit  of  jealousy  which  moves  us,  and  surely 
we  should  be  above  this. 

Then  is  there  really  no  Christmas  for  old  folks?  Is  the  good 
cheer  of  this  day  all  to  be  absorbed  by  the  young  people?  Have 
our  hearts  no  soft  place  left  in  them?  Can  not  we  too  eat  and  drink 
and  be  merry?  Let  us  see.  Who  kills  the  fatted  calf  today?  What 
father  will  welcome  home  his  returned  prodigal  son?  What  mother 
will  bid  her  lost  Ruth  come  in  from  the  harvest  field  and  say  to  her 
"let  the  gleanings  alone,  go  out  no  more  to  follow  atu  r  tin  reapers," 
I  have  enough  for  both,  welcome  home,  daughter!  strayed  from  the 
fold?  Surely  no  better  time  for  this  than  to-day!  Rememl>er  the 
name  and  the  occasion  which  hallowed  this  day!  "I  bring  glad 
tidings  unto  earth,  peace,  and  good  will  toward  men."  There  is  a 
pleasure  and  satisfaction  left  for  age  on  Christina^  day  il"  it  will  but 
seek  them.  NO  better  time  than  this  for  family  reunions,  wherein 
the  outcast  and  neglected  members  can  be  u.itlnnd  once  more 
around  that  social  board  which  years  ago,  while  beneath  our  father's 
roof,  rang  with  our  merry  voices.  No  letter  day  than  this  on  which 
to  forget  those  things  which  should  be  forgotten,  to  recall  those 


RIDGWAY  GEORGE  ROWLEY  85 


memories  which  should  be  re-called,  to  connect  together  the  dis 
severed  links  of  the  family  chain,  heal  up  old  wounds,  sear  over  old 
scars,  and  make  the  surface  of  our  social  relations  smooth  and  bright 
again. 

Let  old  folks,  then,  plant  in  the  center  of  each  household  a 
Christmas  tree  and  all  join  hands  and  circle  around  it.  Make  of 
it  a  family  altar  before  whose  shrine  we  will  reconsecrate  and  re 
kindle  the  expiring  flame  of  parental  and  brotherly  love.  Let  us 
hang  upon  its  evergreen  limbs  not  the  glittering  toys  of  youth,  but 
rather  the  golden  caskets  of  ripened  affection;  not  the  tinsel  joys 
of  a  day  alone,  but  the  silver  chords  of  friendship  and  good  will, 
festooned  from  limb  to  limb,  stretching  from  the  highest  to  the  low 
est,  covering  all  in  its  embrace,  reaching  out  to  the  utmost  limit  of 
human  life,  and  sustaining  those  "golden  bowls"  that  death  alone 
may  break.  And  thus  may  old  folks,  with  "malice  toward  none, 
with  charity  for  all"  have  a  Merry  Christmas,  and  make  unto  them 
selves  a  Happy  New  Year. 


Woman's  Duties  vs.  Woman's  Rights 


Since  the  subject  of  "Woman's  Rights"  is  being  so  extensively 
ventilated,  at  the  present  time,  through  the  medium  of  the  press  of 
this  state,  it  becomes  your  correspondent,  not  only  as  a  right,  but 
his  duty,  perhaps,  to  take  up  the  current  topic,  and  assist,  if  possible, 
to  reduce  the  many  rays  of  light,  thus  far  shed  upon  it,  to  a  focus. 

I  see,  in  the  first  place,  looming  head  and  shoulders  above  all 
other  contemporaries,  your  correspondent,  (as  well  as  occasionally 
that  of  the  A Ita  California)  "Hagar,"  who,  in  the  midst  of  what  she 
conceives  to  be  a  desert  and  barren  waste  of  woman's  hopes,  with 
more  than  a  woman's  strength,  contends  and  wrestles  with  the 
forces  of  Nature,  which  she  deems  are  being  hurled  against  her,  to 
overwhelm,  not  herself  alone,  but  that  dearer  and  more  cherished 
one  which  she  presses  so  closely  to  her  bosom — her  "Ishmael," 
"Woman's  Rights." 

As  the  image  of  Hagar  of  old,  contending  with  the  pitiless 
elements,  enduring  famine  and  fatigue,  and  "suffering  beyond  en 
durance,"  in  the  desert,  alone  with  her  child,  now  overwhelmed  with 


M,  POKTRY  AND  1'ROSK  SKLKCTloNs 


sorrow,  now  upon  the  brink  of  despair,  yet  ever,  forgetful  of  self, 
shielding  and  protecting  her  own  first-born  Ishmael — sending  up 
her  tearful  prayers  for  deliverance,  and  in  the  bitter  anguish  of  her 
soul  crying,  "Save!  oh  save  my  son!"  —  as  this  sublime  picture  rises 
lx?fore  my  mind,  I  must  confess  I  see  therein  embodied  the  substance 
of  a  principle  antagonistic  to  the  one  advanced  by  the  "Hagar"  of 
today. 

It  is  not  in  a  spirit  of  controversy  or  for  sweet  opposition's  sake, 
that  I  would  seek  to  encroach  upon  "Hagar's"  especial  domain: 
nor  yet  is  it  from  an  entire  sympathy  with  the  cause  of  her  adver 
saries  that  I  seem  rather  to  expouse  it.  "Hagar"  complains  bitter 
ly,  yet  "Hagar"  complains  truthfully.  I  will  not  pretend  to  deny 
the  existence  of  the  evils  she  refers  to — nor  will  I  so  trifle  with  truth 
as  to  call  them  "imaginary."  I  only  differ  with  her  in  respect  to  the 
quality  of  the  remedy  she  would  seek  to  apply. 

In  an  article  entitled,  "A  Question  for  Hagar,"  by  "A  Reader  of 
the  Mercury,"  and  which  "Hagar"  answers  in  the  Mercury  of 
January  18th,  the  following  passage  occurs: 

(What  other  rights  can  a  mother  desire  than  those  at  her  own  fireside?  She 
has  the  right  to  so  train  her  sons  that  if  their  country  calls  them  to  her  legislative 
halls  (or  to  the  battle-field?}  they  can  fill  that  call  with  honor  to  themselves,  their 
country  and  their  (iod.  She  has  the  right  to  train  her  daughters  to  make  good 
wives  and  good  mothers.  And  these,  in  my  humble  opinion,  are  woman's  rights.) 

And  "Hagar"  in  reply  says  "These,  truly,  are  woman's  rights, 
and  sacred  rights."  I  was  somewhat  surprised  at  this  answer,  believ 
ing  that  "Hagar"  would  quickly  perceive  the  fallacy  in  confounding 
rights  with  duties.  This  distinction,  "Hagar"  as  an  advocate  of 
"Woman's  Rights,"  should  most  especially,  above  all  others,  pre 
serve,  else  she  will  speedily  be  drawn  into  the  inextricable  vortex  of 
fallacious  argument  and  unsound  reasoning.  By  rights,  as  properly 
used,  we  must  understand  those  obligations  coming  from  other  mem- 
ben  of  society  toward  ourselves,  while  by  duties  we  mean  those  ob 
ligations  and  liabilities  proceeding  from  ourselves  toward  others. 
Not  to  go  into  a  nice  distinction  Ixjtween  tin  u-rm^  natural  rights 
and  natural  duties,  the  discrimination  here  drawn  will  be  sufficient 
for  the  purposes  of  this  short  and  incomplete  article.  Therefore, 
what  Hagar's  questioner  above  refers  to,  so  well  and  eloquently,  as 
among  the  rights  of  woman,  and  which  "Hagar"  herself  acquiesces 


RIDGWAY  GEORGE  ROWLEY  87 


in,  are  simply  her  natural  duties,  as  a  member  of  the  human  family, 
as  a  wife,  as  a  mother  and  as  a  member  of  society.  If  these  are  of 
the  "rights"  which  "Hagar"  would  seek  to  establish  for  her  sex, 
may  that  pen  be  palsied  that  would  utter  a  syllable  against  them. 
"Hagar"  acknowledges  that  "it  is  much  to  be  a  good  wife  and  a  good 
mother";  and  that,  "it  is  much  to  be  a  good  husband  and  a  good 
father."  Indeed  it  is,  "Hagar!"  To  be  a  good  wife  and  a  good 
mother — to  be  a  good  husband  and  a  good  father,  is  all  there  is  of 
human  life.  You  ask,  "why  not  end  the  son's  training  here  as  well 
as  the  daughter's?"  I  answer,  I  would  end  both  here.  The  am 
bition  of  that  man  or  that  woman,  which  leads  him  or  her  to  this 
high  attainment,  can  rest,  satisfied  with  having  reached  the  crown 
ing  height  of  true  human  ambition.  It  is  the  ultima  thule  of  human 
existence.  There  is  nothing  more  beyond  worth  striving  for.  All 
other  achievements  are  subsidiary  to  and  beneath  this  final  and 
great  one.  Human  life,  in  all  its  varied  complications,  ramifica 
tions  and  pursuits,  but  tends  finally  toward  this  one  great  natural 
highway  leading  to  the  summit  of  earthly  bliss  and  happiness. 

Again,  "Hagar"  says,  "it  is  woman's  the  same  as  man's  right 
to  do  whatever  she  can  do  well.  It  is  her  right  to  do  what  and  as  she 
pleases,  so  that  she  pleases  to  do  the  right."  The  italics  are  hers.  If 
they  had  not  been  used,  I  should  myself  have  been  tempted  to 
italicise  these  same  words,  they  are  so  expressive.  Very  good. 
This  is  all  so  true  that  it  is  in  fact  a  truism.  She  has  an  undoubted 
right  to  do  whatever  she  can  do  well,  and  to  do  as  she  pleases,  pro 
vided  she  pleases  to  do  right.  We  will  not  take  issue  upon  this 
declaration.  It  is  unissuable.  But,  has  a  woman  the  right  to  do 
all  she  thinks  she  can  do  well,  and  can  she  do  well  all  she  thinks  she 
can?  If,  as  "Hagar"  asserts,  women  think  they  can  make  good 
lawyers  or  priests;  good  bankers  or  statesmen,  or  "chief  magistrates 
of  the  nation,"  they  evidently  think  wrong;  and  if  they  would  seek 
to  assume  the  responsibilities  of  these  various  positions,  they  would 
be  asserting  no  natural  "right"  of  theirs,  but,  on  the  contrary,  be 
doing  themselves  a  great  and  incalculable  natural  "wrong."  It  is  not 
a  spirit  of  resistance  which  induces  men  to  contest  these  assumed 
rights  of  women — it  is  not  because  we  are  jealous  of  such  an  assump 
tion  on  their  part — it  is  not  because  we  would  foolishly  assert  "our 
God-given  rights  as  lords  of  creation" — nor  is  it  because  we  deem 


88  I'OKTRY  AND  I'ROSK  SELECTIONS 


woman  to  be  altogether  incompetent  and  unworthy  to  fill  the 
pulpit,  the  bench,  the  bar,  the  bank,  the  office — it  is  for  no  such 
slight  and  superficial  reasons  as  these  that  men  stand  firm  and  un 
yielding  to  the  demands  of  the  "champions"  of  "woman's  rights." 
Their  reasons  lie  deeper  down  and  are  far  greater  than  these.  The 
principles  involved  in  "Hagar's"  rights  of  women  are  principles 
which  lie  iml>edded  in  the  very  foundation  stones  of  the  fabric  of 
our  social  system  and  of  human  relations.  To  subvert  these  prin 
ciples  would  be  to  overturn  the  structure  itself.  But  methinks  I 
hear  "Hagar"  now  saying,  "that  is  just  what  I  would  do,  overturn 
the  whole  structure;  it  is  rotten!"  But  not  so  fast,  "Hagar," 
l>efore  you  would  tear  down  the  habitation  in  which  you  dwell,  seek 
first  to  build  you  a  new  abode;  else  you  may  be  left  to  buffet  against 
fiercer  storms  than  ever  beat  upon  "Hagar  in  the  wilderness." 
Before  you  would  destroy  man's  love  and  respect  for  woman,  al 
ready  firmly  established  upon  natural  grounds,  it  were  better  to 
know  that  you  can  still  win  or  preserve  that  love  and  respect  upon 
some  other  basis,  or  upon  some  other  ground.  "Hagar"  herself 
confesses  to  this  present  "vantage  ground"  of  woman,  when  she 
says,  "I  know  this,  men  love  truth,  and  men  love  sincerity."  Yes, 
and  when  "truth"  and  "sincerity"  are  embodied  in  the  "lovely 
guise  of  woman's  form,"  men  love  these  qualities  far  more  than  in 
the  abstract. 

We  conceive  woman's  true  sphere  to  be  this — and  it 
"Hagar"  would  substitute  this  change  of  "woman's  true  sphere" 
for  the  theme  of  "woman's  rights,"  she  would  be  far  less  likely  to 
be  led  astray.  Woman  is  by  nature  a  weak  and  dependent  being. 
I  know,  to  strong  "Hagar"  this  assertion  is  very  like  "hark  from 
the  tombs  a  doleful  sound,"  nevertheless  it  is  just  as  I  write  it. 
Indeed  I  will  go  still  further  and  say,  this  very  weakness  and  de 
pendence  of  woman  constitute  her  chief est  strength.  "Hagar"  may 
now  retort  I  am  getting  subtle  and  metaphysical.  Then  we  will 
return  to  our  former  plainness.  Man  loves  woman,  not  because  she 
is  like  himself,  but,  because  she  is  so  very  unlike  him.  Then  would 
you  seek  to  destroy  the  basis  of  that  love  by  making  woman  like 
man?  Here  again  I  hear  the  voice  of  "Hagar"  crying,  "we  do  not 
want  man's  love,  we  want  our  rights! — our  rights!"  But  you  do 
want  man's  love;  you  could  not  thrive  without  it;  you  may  think 


RIDGWAY  GEORGE  ROWLEY  89 


you  can,  yet  here,  too,  you  evidently  think  wrong.  Moreover  your 
first  and  highest  "right"  is  man's  love,  so  when  you  so  vehemently 
demand  your  rights,  you  simply  demand,  first,  our  love. 

Woman,  like  man,  as  a  member  of  society,  has  duties  to  per 
form,  duties  distinct  and  individual,  though  reciprocal,  pertaining 
each  to  their  own  proper  sphere.  To  attempt  to  blend  these  different 
duties  promiscuously  together,  would  be  to  undo  nature  herself. 
If  our  duties  are  properly  performed  our  rights  will  as  necessarily 
follow  as  night  follows  day,  or  light  darkness.  A  misconception  and 
a  misapprehension  of  these  "duties"  will  not  lead  to  our  "rights," 
but,  on  the  contrary,  we  will  be  farther  from  them  at  the  end  of  our 
journey  than  ever.  We  do  not  pretend  that  our  present  social 
system  is  a  perfect  one,  or  that  woman's  present  position  in  that 
system  is  one  which  gives  to  her  all  her  rights — so  neither  is  man's 
present  condition  by  any  means  a  perfect  one.  We  are,  at  best, 
with  all  our  systems,  but  imperfect  creatures.  As  a  young  man, 
I  could  raise  a  wail  for  my  class — of  burdens  which  society  throws 
upon  us — of  tributes  which  she  unmercifully  exacts  from  us — of 
grievous  oppressions  with  which  she  would  bear  us  down — that 
would  ring  out  nearly  as  loud  as  "Hagar's"  cry  for  her  sex.  "Hagar" 
does  well  to  retort  bitterly  upon  calling  these  wrongs  "imaginary 
wrongs."  She  does  well,  too,  to  take  up  the  cause  of  Mercer's 
load  of  suffering  humanity;  it  is  an  honor  to  herself  and  to  her  sex. 
But  some  one  has  somewhere  said  that  "The  Empire  of  Woman 
is  boundless";  by  her  mere  volition  she  can  control  the  minds  of 
men,  and  this  is  literally  and  absolutely  true.  Woman  has  it  in  her 
power  to  better,  not  only  her  own  condition,  but  also  that  of  all 
society;  and  if  this  volition  were  properly  exercised  such  would  now 
be  the  condition  of  her  sex  that  there  would  be  no  need  for  the  terse 
and  vigorous  pen  of  a  "Hagar"  to  arouse  them  to  a  sense  of  the 
alarming  condition  into  which  they  are  indeed  fallen — fallen  not 
from  the  want  of  rights  which  are  denied  them,  but  rather  from  the 
want  of  a  proper  performance  of  their  own  duties\ 


ant 


3j?l  lij( 

»ji;w 

Q   *  a  «  .  §••=  M 


H'jjr 
gil-1 


RIDGWAY  GEORGE  ROWLEY  91 


In  the  Chapel 


Dr.  Jordan  filled  the  pulpit  of  the  University  Chapel  on  Sunday 
morning,  addressing  what  may  well  be  called  a  crowded  house,  since 
there  was  not  a  seat  to  spare,  and  listeners  stood  in  the  corridors. 
The  present  chapel  proves  entirely  inadequate  to  the  uses  required 
of  it.  The  not  far  off  wants  of  the  institution  will  require  that  the 
new  Memorial  Chapel  to  be  built  should  seat  at  least  two  thousand 
people.  It  is  not  only  the  students  who  will  congregate  there,  but 
the  surrounding  towns  and  country  will  have  eager  hundreds  who 
will  be  all  too  glad  to  avail  themselves  of  the  unusual  opportunities 
offered  by  these  Sunday  discourses,  if  they  could  be  made  to  feel 
that  they  are  not  intruding.  Plenty  of  seating  room  will  dissipate 
the  feeling  which  must  now  prevail  amongst  outsiders,  that  they  are 
possible  intruders.  The  hall,  or  lecture  room,  of  the  Quadrangle, 
now  temporarily  used  as  the  University  Chapel,  is  so  bright  and 
comfortable  in  its  fittings  up,  and  so  beautiful  in  its  adornments, 
that  it  bespeaks,  already,  a  forecast  of  what  the  grand  Memorial 
Chapel  itself  will  be  when  completed.  All,  however,  hope  that  the 
proportions  of  the  new  Chapel  may  not  curtail  its  future  usefulness. 
It  must  ever  be  a  prominent  feature  of  the  moral  and  intellectual,  as 
well  as  of  the  architectural  plan  of  the  University,  and  should  be 
commensurate  in  its  proportions. 

The  Sunday  morning  lecture  by  the  President  was  a  thoughtful 
and  carefully  wrought  picture  of  the  possibilities  of  man  through 
his  natural  progress.  It  was  entitled  "The  Ethics  of  Dust." 
Original  depravity,  and  native  sin,  have  no  part  in  the  human  plan, 
if  preachers  will  insist  that  they  have  in  the  divine  one.  An  abid 
ing  faith  in  man's  progressive  and  almost  constant  development, 
through  the  potentiality  of  his  own  agency,  as  it  were,  and  by  the 
potency  of  the  forces  planted  and  set  to  work  within  him  and  his 
race  from  the  beginning,  drew  the  distinctive  line  of  demarkation 
between  this  scientific  view  of  man's  progress  on  earth,  and  that  of 
the  theologians. 

The  speaker  insisted  that  all  material  progress  was  but  "step 
ping  stones  to  higher  things" — that  great  battles  may  be  fought 
and  won,  as  were  the  great  nine  battles  of  the  world,  and  to  these 
be  given  the  credit  of  the  great  and  better  progress  following;  still, 


POKTRY   AM)   PROSK  SKLKCTIONS 


if  these  battles  had  never  been  fought,  the  changes  would  as  assured 
ly  have  followed,  but  perhaps  have  been  slower  in  development. 
On  and  on  must  go  the  destiny  of  man  toward  the  greatest  possible 
fulfillment.  And  here,  as  the  highest  example  of  man's  ultimate 
moral  and  intellectual  development,  for  the  first  time,  the  learned 
speaker  trenched  upon  the  domain  of  the  normal  pulpit,  by  making 
that  example  Christ  himself.  Perhaps,  too,  right  here,  the  Unitar 
ian  or  utilitarian  mind  of  some  hearers  was  disturbed  in  the  hitherto 
unbroken  chain  of  logic  which  led  steadily  along  the  pathway  of  hu 
man  progress — from  miserable  ages  of  old  down  to  the  greatness 
of  the  twentieth  century,  gradually  step  by  step  to  higher  things— 
that  the  fully  developed  man,  as  illustrated  in  the  great  example 
above  given  by  the  speaker,  ought,  in  consonance  with  the  premises, 
and  the  conclusions  sought,  to  have  been  born  two  thousand  years 
hence,  rather  than  two  thousand  years  ago.  Otherwise,  that  pro 
digious  development  as  quoted,  must,  from  a  scientific  point  of 
view,  have  been  an  abnormal  one,  and  thus  defeat  any  purpose  as 
an  illustrative  example. 

These  little  stumbling  blocks  in  the  way  of  science  helping  to 
develop  religion,  may  yet  only  be  "stepping  stones  to  higher  things, " 
but  they  show  that,  as  we  step,  we  must  depend,  still,  upon  faith, 
and  not  upon  reason,  upon  the  light  given  us  not  by  man,  but  by 
his  creator;  and  that  when  science  wrestles  with  things  not  of  this 
world,  with  the  immaterial  rather  than  the  material,  man's  aids 
of  mathematical  precision  are  of  no  avail,  and  he  must  fall  in  the 
struggle. 


Labor  and  Capital 


"We  can't  get  along  without  capital."  Very  good;  but  do 
you  think  you  can  get  along  without  labor  any  better?  And  what 
is  capital  but  the  result  of  labor?  Who  made  our  capitalists  what 
they  are  but  the  laboring  classes?  Now  that  they  have  got  all  the 
golden  eggs  that  the  poor  goose  could  well  lay,  is  it  the  part  of  wise 
men  to  kill  the  goose  beside?  What  gives  your  money  and  your 
proj)erty  value  but  the  proximity  of  the  people?  If  you  do  not 
think  so,  just  take  your  "capital"  to  the  North  Pole  and  squat  on 


RIDGWAY  GEORGE  ROWLEY  93 


the  summit  of  an  iceberg,  and  there  sit  and  endeavor  to  enjoy  it. 
We  think  such  a  trip  would  do  some  men  who  have  a  little  capital, 
but  less  brains,  a  vast  deal  of  good. 

It  is  not,  however,  always  the  real  capitalist,  he  who,  by  the 
exercise  of  intellect  and  good  judgment,  has  accumulated  property, 
who  asserts  the  great  superiority  of  capital  over  every  other  species 
of  human  wealth;  it  is  only  the  tools  and  agents — men  without  a 
dollar  themselves,  or  the  ability  to  make  it — who,  in  the  imagined 
interests  of  those  whom  they  seek  to  so  servilely  subserve,  publicly 
proclaim  the  vast  superiority  of  capital  over  labor,  and  that  the 
country  is  going  to  pieces  because  capital,  forsooth,  is  offended  at 
labor,  and  at  its  claims.  An  honorable  Sand-Lotter,  even,  is  a 
prince  amongst  men,  in  comparison  with  such  an  apostate  and  hu 
man  deceiver. 

If  the  presence  of  capital  is  so  essential  to  the  welfare  of  a 
community,  so  greatly  to  the  interest  of  the  poor,  then  show  us  one 
single  instance  in  the  thousands  of  recent  foreclosures  of  mortgages 
upon  the  property  of  the  country,  whereby  men  were  driven  with 
their  wives  and  children  out  into  the  wide  world  again,  to  commence 
the  battle  of  life  anew,  with  the  weight  of  years  and  gray  hairs  upon 
them — we  say  show  us  the  capitalist,  or  the  bank,  or  the  corpora 
tion,  that  would,  or  did  come  to  such  a  poor  one's  rescue,  and  save 
him  from  destruction.  It  is  not  in  them  to  do  these  deeds  of  justice 
and  mercy,  though  in  nearly  every  case  it  could  have  been  easily 
done  without  damage  or  ultimate  loss  to  themselves.  The  test  of 
true  merits  is  in  acts,  not  words.  The  general  concern  of  capital  in 
this  State  has  been  to  collect  its  interest.  High  rates  of  interest 
have  caused  it  to  seek  this  channel  of  productiveness  rather  than 
any  other.  The  money  lender,  as  such,  is  a  positive  injury  to  any 
community.  He  is  well  aware  that  there  is  no  business  which  can 
possibly  support  such  a  usurious  loan  as  that  he  is  making;  yet,  be 
cause  he  is  secured  against  loss,  he  will  lend  his  money  just  as  a 
spider  will  give  time  to  a  fly  to  become  at  last  ensnared  in  the  mesh 
es  of  his  net.  That  capitalist  who  wrill  invest  his  money  in  manufac 
turing  industries,  in  producing-interests  of  any  kind,  is  a  public 
benefactor.  But  he  who  would  hide  it  away  in  trust-deeds  and 
mortgage  loans,  for  the  sake  of  interest,  is  not  a  benefit  to  the  com 
munity  in  which  and  from  which  he  collected  these  dollars,  by  which 
he  would  now  seek  to  elevate  himself  over  the  heads  of  his  neighbors. 


94  1'OKTRY  AM)   PROSE  SELECTIONS 


Human  pride  and  conceit  have  much,  very  much,  to  do  with 
this  clash  of  arms  of  two  pretending  armies.  There  is  no  real  an 
tagonism,  save  in  the  false  system  of  education  which  prevails  over 
the  land  today,  and  which  ignores  honor  and  debases  the  soul,  and 
laughs  at  virtue  for  the  sake  of  the  almighty  dollar.  The  reign  of 
Mammon  is,  just  now,  at  its  vain-glorious  height,  just  as  is  prophe 
sied  in  holy  writ.  Let  us  all  labor  effectively  to  hurl  this  tyrant 
from  the  throne,  and  set  up  instead,  one  worthy  to  rule  and  to  be 
served,  and  let  this  be  the  inscription  above  his  seat:  "  Nobilitas 
sola  est  atque  unica  virtas"  "Virtue  is  the  true  and  only  nobility." 


At  Last 


"Huzza  for  Fitz-Smythe!  He  has  done  it  at  last!  Cest  un 
fait  accompli!  For  four  and  a  half  years  he  has  been  straining  every 
intellectual  nerve  to  get  off  a  good  thing,  and  at  last  he  has  actually 
done  it!  His  "boot-black"  story  in  yesterday's  Alta,  was  capital. 
It  is  too  good  to  be  lost;  here  it  is."-  -'San  Francisco  Argonaut" 

A  True  Story  of  a  Boot-black 

Many  of  our  readers  doubtless  know  "J—  — ,"  a  "gemman  ob 
color,"  doing  business  as  a  "sole  trader,"  in  the  boot-blacking  line, 
on  Merchant  street,  immediately  in  the  rear  of  the  Bulletin 
office,  for  some  time  past.  Early  in  the  morning  of  the  day  on 
which  a  late  Panama  steamer  sailed,  a  regular  customer  of 
J  — 's,  whom  we  shall  designate  as  Clark,  was  having  his  boots 
"done  up"  in  a  scientific  manner  by  Professor  J  — .  While 
seating  himself  in  the  "operative  chair"  Clark  says,  by  way  of 

caution,  "Now,  J ,  I  want  you  to  do  them   up  in   ship  shape," 

referring  of  course   to  the   polishing  of   his   boot>       "I'se   do    it, 
Massa    Clark,     I'se    just     the    individooal    wat     ran    do    it,    that 

ere  way,   ship  shape,"   responded   J ;     "for   I'se  been  board 

ship  long  time;    I'se  sailed  round  the  world  two,  tree  times.  I  has." 
"Oh,  indeed,"  returned  Clark,  "then  we  arc  brother  sailors,  J— 
tori  have  been  at  sea  ten  or  twelve  years  of  my  life,  too,  and  1  should 
probably  have  been  there  Mill,  if —if— ,"  here  Clark,  with  a  lowered 


RIDGWAY  GEORGE  ROWLEY  95 


voice,  and  in  a  hesitating  manner,  continued,  "if  I  hadn't  done  a 
bad  deed  on  a  ship  once,  so  I  have  been  afraid  to  go  aboard  of  one 

ever  since."     "Wat,  wat's  dat  bad  deed  you'se  did?"  queries  J , 

in  an  interested  manner.  "Oh,"  says  Clark,  "I  dasn't  tell,  I  never 
told  any  human  being  of  it,  and  I  dasn't  tell  you  for  fear  you  would 
go  and  inform  on  me,  and  get  me  into  trouble."  "Now  I  does  no 
such  bad  ting  as  dat,  Massa  Clark,  I  'forms  on  no  man,"  interposes 

J ,  in  an  injured  and  dignified  tone.     "Well,  if  you'll  agree  not 

to  tell  anybody  else,  I'll  let  you  into  the  secret" ;  and  so  Clark,  in  a 
serious  and  confiding  way  proceeded  to  relate  to  the  astonished  J— 
how,  a  few  years  ago,  when  mate  of  a  merchant  ship,  he  had  mur 
dered  the  Captain  and  crew  of  the  vessel,  threw  their  bodies  over 
board,  and  run  the  ship  alone  into  a  foreign  port,  disposed  of  the 
cargo,  pocketed  the  results,  and  came  to  California  to  enjoy  the 
fruits  of  his  ill-gotten  wealth,  amounting  to  a  hundred  thousand 
dollars  or  more.  All  this  the  enlightened  J—  -  heard  and  drank 
in  with  open  mouth  and  staring  eyes,  the  blacking-brush  flying 
faster  as  the  story  went  along,  until,  at  the  conclusion,  his  excited 
feelings  could  be  pent  up  no  longer.  Throwing  down  the  brushes 
he  paced  to  and  fro  before  the  solemn  occupant  of  the  chair  in  a 
true  stage  style,  and  at  length  broke  out  with,  "I  black  no  man's 
boots  like  dat,  sah!  You  kill  four,  five,  six  men,  sah,  and  now  lives 
like  a  gemman  on  their  money!  Orful  bad  deed,  sah!  orful  bad!" 
Here  a  sudden  thought  seemed  to  pass  through  his  woolly  head,  and 
going  down  after  it  with  his  fingers  into  the  dark  depths  of  his  som 
bre  curls,  he  brought  up  once  more,  all  standing,  directly  in  front  of 
the  amused  Clark,  who  still  sat  silently  watching  the  course  of 
events.  In  the  voice  and  attitude  of  an  Othello,  he  broke  in  upon 
Clark's  cogitations  as  follows:  "Now,  see  here,  Massa  Clark,  you've 
gone  and  done  murder;  I  knows  it,  an'  that  ere  boy  knows  it," 
pointing  to  his  assistant  standing  near,  "an*  if  yer  don't  cum  down 
and  see  this  nigger  wid  der  stuff,  I  goes  right  off  and  'forms  Cheef 
Burke  all  'bout  it."  Clark  pleaded  piteously  for  mercy,  begging 
J—  —  not  to  do  it,  and  reminding  him  of  his  promise  not  to  tell,  etc 
But  J—  -  was  inexorable  and  turned  a  deaf  ear  to  mercy,  his  only 
reply  being:  "You's  no  business  for  ter  do  it,  sah,  no  business  for 
ter  do  it."  J—  — 's  only  terms  were  "ten  tousand  dollars"; 
nothing  less  would  do.  Finally,  a  bargain  was  struck  after  this 


96  I'OKTRY  AM)   1'kOSK  SKI.KCTK  )\s 


wise:  Jim  and  the  boy  were  to  go  immediately  and  purchase  their 
tickets  for  the  East,  since,  as  Clark  said,  if  he  paid  them  the  money 
they  must  leave  the  country,  so  as  never  to  appear  as  witnesses 
against  him.  Clark  was  to  go  right  off  and  get  the  ten  thousand 
dollars,  and  meet  J—  —  on  board  the  steamer  to  pay  it  to  him.  So 
off  goes  J—  -  and  purchases  tickets  for  himself  and  boy  for  a 
passage  to  New  York,  which  took  about  all  the  money  which  he  was 
supposed  to  have.  Coming  back  to  close  his  "office"  preparatory 
to  his  final  departure,  he  there  met  a  brother  "professional,"  whom, 
in  a  most  eager  and  delighted  manner,  he  proceeded  to  inform  he 
was  "gwoin  to  leave  the  country — gwoin  Hast  right  off."  The 
second  individual  proposed  to  buy  out  his  stock  in  trade.  J  — 
in  a  most  transported  state,  makes  answer:  "Take  'em,  take  'em, 
sah ;  I  wants  noting  to  do  wid  'em ;  I  cares  noting  alxmt  such  traps ; 
dey  are  all  yours;  what  do  I  want  wid  such  tings  as  dese? — I'se 
rich,  I  is;  I  am  worth  ten  tousand  dollars!"  and  this  assertion  he 
clinches  with  a  considerable  manifestation  of  the  "Kssence  of  Old 
Virginny,"  in  the  way  of  a  regular  breakdown.  Suffice  it  to  say, 
J—  -  gave  away  all  his  worldly  possessions,  proceeds  at  once  with 
the  boy  aboard  the  steamer,  there  to  await  the  arrival  of  Clark  with 
the  "ten  tousand  dollars."  But,  strange  to  say,  Clark  didn't  come. 
The  steamer  starts,  but  just  as  she  pushes  off,  the  boy,  smelling  a 

small  mice,  jumps  ashore,  while  away  goes  the  confident  J ,  en 

route  for  Panama,  probably  imagining  that  Clark  would  yet  board 
the  steamer  in  a  small  boat  off  the  Heads,  bringing  with  him  his 
"ten  tousand  dollars."  Alas!  poor  innocent,  covetous  J  — 
His  dreams  of  sudden  wealth  are  no  doubt  by  this  time  considerably 
disturbed  by  the  rank  odor  of  a  large-sized  rat,  if  not  by  visions  of 
the  murdered  bodies  of  a  captain  and  crew  floating  on  the  surface 
of  the  briny  water,  in  the  wake  of  the  steamer,  while  Mother  Cary's 
chickens  shriek  a  requiem  above  them. 


RIDGWAY  GEORGE  ROWLEY  97 


Midnight  Mass  at  St.  Mary's  Cathedral 


The  midnight  hour  of  every-day  life,  with  its  accompanying 
thoughtfulness,  its  silence,  and  its  darkness,  is  ever  an  hallowed  time. 
But  the  midnight  of  a  Christmas  eve,  spent  in  the  nave  of  a  great 
cathedral,  beneath  whose  arched  and  pillared  roof  the  dim  light 
reveals  the  presence  of  assembled  thousands,  called  together  from 
the  quiet  and  rest  of  their  homes,  in  the  stillness  of  night's  darkest 
hour,  with  prayer  and  solemn  communion,  to  do  honor  and  rever 
ence  to  Him,  the  first  moments  of  whose  natal  day  are  being  born 
again  in  their  midst,  has  that  grandeur,  impressiveness  and  sub 
limity  about  it,  which  religion  alone  can  give  to  earthly  objects  and 
scenes. 

As  the  hand  of  time  marks  the  dividing  line  between  those  two 
eventful  days,  on  one  of  which  the  world  was  without  a  Christ,  and 
on  the  other  had  received  the  precious  gift  of  Heaven,  the  tolling 
bell  reveals  the  "glad  tidings"  to  the  outward  world;  while  within, 
the  deep  rich  music  of  the  grand  organ  and  choir  breaks  out  upon 
the  midnight  air,  filling  the  surrounding  space  with  its  volume  of 
sweet  harmony  and  solemn  sound,  sweeping  like  a  great  wave  over 
that  sea  of  human  heads,  rippling  at  first  the  surface  only,  but  grad 
ually  sinking  into  the  heart  itself — stirring  up  the  deep  waters  of 
the  soul,  and  agitating  the  spirit  even  to  its  lowest  depths — 

"For,  if  such  holy  song 

Enwrap  our  fancy  long, 
Time  will  run  back  and  fetch  the  age  of  gold; 

And  speckled  vanity 

Will  sicken  soon  and  die, 
And  leprous  sin  will  melt  from  earthly  mould; 

And  hell  itself  will  pass  away, 

And  leave  her  dolorous  mansions  to  the  peering  day." 

At  the  same  moment,  as  we  are  entranced  by  the  outburst  of  the 
glorious  anthem,  the  Bishop  of  the  Roman  Catholic  Church,  clad 
in  his  pontifical  robes,  crowned  with  the  mitred  cap,  and  followed 
by  the  many  accompanying  priests  and  attendants,  with  the  insig 
nia,  emblems  and  dignities  of  their  office,  suddenly  emerges  into  the 
open  space  in  front  of  the  altar,  and  all  with  bended  knee  do  hom 
age  to  the  shrine  before  them — a  holy  train,  led  on  by  the  gilded 


98  POETRY  AM)  PROSE  SELECTIONS 


crosier  of  the  Bishop,  winding  about  in  solemn  procession,  seeking 
as  it  were  once  more  the  place  where 

— the  Virgin  blest 
Hath  laid  her  babe  to  rest"- 

like  unto  that  other  train  of  sages  journeying  towards  the  east  to 
seek  the  Babe  of  Bethlehem,  led  on  by  the  gilded  rays  of  that  "bright 
shining  star"  set  up  as  a  sign  in  the  orient  sky.  Surrounding  all, 
the  rows  of  great  white  pillars  which  support  the  vaulted  and  fret 
ted  roof  above  draped  in  evergreen  vines  and  limbs  stand  like  tall 
spectral  ghosts  peering  through  the  leaves  of  their  hedge  boundary, 
whose  clouded  and  veiled  entrance  opens  into  the  awfulness  of  an 
eternal  world.  The  altar,  decorated  with  flowers  and  shrubs,  and 
adorned  with  gold  and  silver  ornaments,  is  radiant  and  gleaming 
in  the  light  of  many  "burning  candlesticks;"  above,  on  either  side, 
in  attitudes  of  devotion  and  love,  stand  youthful  cherubims  of 
purest  marbled  whiteness,  gazing  into  the  mysteries  of  the  "inner 
sanctuary"  beneath;  while  before  us,  and  over  all,  hangs  suspended 
a  life-size  picture  of  the  sanctified  Madonna,  the  presiding  spirit  of 
the  hour,  appearing  as  though  the  wall  of  the  church  had  opened 
and  the  Virgin  Mother,  in  the  midst  of  a  halo  of  light  and  glory, 
was  descending  from  heaven  amongst  us,  and  with  outstretched 
arms  supplicating  us  to  remember,  not  her  alone,  but  that  One  far 
greater  than  her,  Him  to  whom  she  gave  birth.  Peal  after  peal 
of  the  full  notes  of  the  organ,  swelled  into  a  louder  echo  by  the  many 
voices  of  the  choristers  and  the  music  of  the  accompanying  instru 
ments,  respond  in  measured  depths  to  the  stately  recitations  of  the 
bishop,  while  the  words  "lesus  Hominum  Salvator,"  as  pronounced 
from  his  lips,  cause  all  good  Catholics  to  bow  the  head  in  recogni 
tion  of  the  name. 

The  annointing  of  the  altar  by  the  prelate;  the  thick  clouds  of 
perfume  going  up  from  the  swinging  censer,  filling  chancel  and  nave 
with  the  odor  of  its  burning  incense;  the  repeated  and  formal 
opening  and  shutting  the  holy  book;  the  gilded  cross  upheld  before 
the  bishop's  seat;  the  many  burning  candles  with  their  t ticks  of 
gold  and  silver;  the  shining  altar;  the  robes  of  the  priests;  the 
gowns  of  the  attendants;  the  bow  and  bended  knee  and  symbolic 
cross  given  in  passing  the  altar  front ;  and  again,  the  massive  church, 


RIDGWAY  GEORGE  ROWLEY  99 


with  its  carved  roof  and  decorated  walls,  its  painted  windows,  its 
adorned  galleries,  its  splendid  organ,  its  great  choir;  the  thousands 
of  human  beings,  filling  in  reverential  silence  every  seat,  and  aisle, 
and  gallery  of  the  huge  building,  chanting  the  solemn  mass,  mur 
muring  the  whispered  prayer — all  seen  by  the  dimly  reflected  light 
of  burning  tapers,  which  seek  in  vain  to  conquer  the  eternal  dark 
ness  of  earth's  midnight;  while  without  the  brighter  tapers  of 
heaven  are  burning  and  twinkling  from  the  depths  of  an  azure  sky; 
with  the  surrounding  multitudes  of  the  city's  populace  sunk  in  the 
deep  bosom  of  sleep  and  rest — all  lend  their  influence  and  magic- 
spell  to  enlist  the  heart,  soften  the  spirit,  and  subdue  the  soul; 
leading  the  thoughts  of  those  present  away  from  sublunary  things; 
and  under  the  guidance  of  an  angel  of  light,  with  our  eyes  closed  to 
outward  scenes,  we  are  made  willing  followers,  to  be  soon  brought 
into  the  direct  presence  of  that  "Son  of  Man"  who  sitteth  at  the 
right  hand  of  a  throne  encircled  about  with  visions  of  far  greater 
brightness  than  these — all  intensely  solemnizing  and  sanctifying 
the  hallowedness  of  an  hour,  in  which,  centuries  ago,  the  morn  of  a 
new  life,  the  dawn  of  a  new  light,  broke  in  upon  the  darkness  of 
former  ages — an  hour  in  which  a  lost  world  was  redeemed. 

The  impressiveness  of  the  ceremonies  of  the  Roman  Catholic 
Church;  the  gloom,  the  mystery,  the  doubt,  the  reverential  awe 
with  which  its  high  priests  ever  seek  to  clothe  their  proceedings 
have  all  had  their  due  influence  upon  the  world.  It  is  folly  to 
call  this  the  result  of  ignorance,  superstition  or  bigotry,  for  the 
Church  of  Rome  has  had  its  allotted  place  in  the  sisterhood  of 
Churches.  It  has  filled  a  niche  in  the  great  temple  of  religion, 
which,  perhaps,  could  not  have  been  filled  as  well  by  any  other  form. 
There  is  as  much  of  sincerity,  integrity  and  devoutness  amongst 
the  leaders;  as  much  of  reverence,  and  love,  and  fear  of  God,  amongst 
the  followers  of  this  religion,  as  will  be  found,  relatively,  amongst 
the  believers  in  the  Protestant  faith.  And,  judging  from  the  fruits 
of  their  labor,  the  past  history  of  the  two  Churches  will  lead  us  to 
the  inevitable  conclusion  that  the  Cassock  of  the  priest  contains 
more  ability,  more  energy,  more  potency  within  the  breadths  of  its 
folds,  than  does  the  more  unassuming  garb  of  the  orthodox  clergy 
man.  For,  send  forth  both  as  missionaries  amongst  the  Indian 
tribes  of  our  continent,  or  amongst  other  rude  and  uncultivated 
nations  of  the  world,  and  the  former  will  quickly  number  hundreds 


inn  I'OKTRV  AM)  1'ROSK  SELECTIONS 


of  sincere  and  worshipful  followers,  whereas  those  of  the  latter  may 
be  counted  by  tens.  An  analysis  of  this  circumstance  brings  us  at 
once  to  a  consideration  of  the  essential  and  material  differences  exist 
ing  between  these  two  branches  of  Christian  faith.  The  sources  of 
the  two  streams  are  evidently  one  and  the  same,  they  have  but  one 
fountain  head ;  and  so  are  they  both  tending  in  their  course  toward 
the  same  great  sea,  and  both  emptying  their  waters  therein.  Their 
true  differences  lie  only  in  the  channels  through  which  their  waters 
flow,  and  the  countries  through  which  their  channels  pass;  in  the 
nations  camped  upon  the  banks  of  these  streams,  and  in  the  natural 
growth  of  ideas  upon  their  banks. 

The  power  of  Rome  in  controlling  the  minds  and  dispositions  of 
uncultivated  and  unenlightened  nations  and  peoples  consists  in,  and 
is  the  result  of,  the  liberal  use  and  exercise  of  imposing  ceremonies 
and  impressive  forms  of  worship;  the  pomp  of  show  and  costly 
pageantry  attached  to  the  construction  of  outward,  visible  and  tan 
gible  semblances  of  the  attributes  of  God  and  of  Divine  Being. 
In  short,  it  is  much  easier  for  a  rude  and  untutored  nature  to  seize 
hold  of  an  image  of  the  Cross,  or  of  the  Virgin  Mary,  and  worship 
it,  than  to  pay  reverence  to  an  invisible  being,  a  conception  of  whose 
manner  and  place  of  existence  can  be  impressed  upon  its  mind  only 
with  effort  and  difficulty.  It  is  easier,  too,  for  still  ruder  natures, 
though  tutored  in  many  other  respects,  to  fall  down  and  worship 
wooden  gods  and  stone  idols,  direct  representations  of  deities  whose 
other  existence  they  cannot  conceive;  so  was  brought  about,  and 
still  exists,  the  heathen  idolatry  of  the  Chinese  and  Hindoos,  the 
lowest  form  of  religious  worship  and  belief.  From  this,  we  ascend 
higher  and  higher,  until,  at  an  infinite  distance  above  it,  we  find 
Catholicism,  with  its  more  ideal  and  sublime  image  of  a  dying 
Savior  stretched  upon  a  cross,  which  is  knelt  to,  kissed  and  wor 
shiped;  and  thus  the  seeds  of  a  religious  sentiment  scattered  and 
sown  which  finally  become  established  in  a  firm  conviction  and 
l>elief  in  the  rights  and  principles  of  the  Roman  Catholic  Church. 

Inferior  minds  must  be  dealt  with  by  inferior  means.  The 
crude  intellect  can  readily  seize  hold  of  and  understand  a  real  rep 
resentation,  when  it  could  not  receive  an  impression  of  an  ideal  one. 
To  attempt  to  convey  to  such  a  mind  a  proper  knowledge  of  God, 
by  means  of  word  power,  and  ideal  comparisons,  and  logic  and  rea- 


RIDGWAY  GEORGE  ROWLEY  101 


son — to  endeavor  to  send  that  uncultivated  imagination  off  into 
the  depths  of  thought,  and  there  to  conjure  up  and  form  for  itself 
an  immaterial  and  unconstructed  being  to  worship,  to  fear,  and  to 
love,  is,  at  best,  as  history,  as  I  have  before  said,  has  proved  an  ar 
duous  undertaking,  and  one  fraught  with  many  uncertain  results. 
On  the  other  hand  the  highly  cultivated  and  intelligent  mind,  one 
accustomed  to  employ  the  loftier  powers  of  reason,  memory  and 
imagination,  disdains  to  employ  inferior  means  to  convey  to  it  a 
sense  and  perception  of  some  great  truth.  The  strong  intellect  can 
form  pictures  and  images  of  its  own,  and  with  its  mental  eye  can 
see  and  deal  with  them  as  well  as  though  they  were  painted  upon 
canvas,  or  graven  upon  stone,  or  carved  of  wood  or  of  iron.  Luther 
and  Calvin  when  they  tore  themselves  away  from  the  mother 
Church  took  with  them  far  higher  purposes  and  nobler  resolves 
than  they  left  behind  them.  From  their  elevated  standpoint  of 
intellectuality  they  could  look  below  them,  and  see  the  Church  they 
had  left,  occupying  only  an  intermediate  position  between  them 
selves  at  the  top,  and  pure  idolatry  at  the  foot;  only  half  way  up 
the  hill  stood  the  spires  of  Rome,  while  at  the  base  shone  the  gilded 
domes  of  the  Pagan  Mosques. 

The  Church  of  Rome  has  had  a  great  work  to  perform,  and  that 
it  has  done  that  work  well  the  past  and  present  condition  of  the 
Church  truly  testify.  The  Protestant  Church  has  a  great  work  to 
perform,  and  that  it  will  perform  that  work  well  the  present  and 
certain  future  of  society  truly  testify.  As  mind  develops,  and  the 
dominion  of  intellect  expands;  as  the  roughness  and  rudeness  of 
uncultivated  natures,  become  more  polished  and  refined;  as  the 
world  becomes  more  enlightened,  while  society  moves  on,  the  neces 
sity  for  the  existence  of  the  Roman  Catholic  Church  ceases  to  be. 
As  a  link,  connecting  a  higher  intellectual  future  with  a  less  intel 
lectual  past,  it  may  continue  yet  for  a  while  to  hold  its  place  in  the 
chain  of  religious  faiths  and  beliefs.  But  its  doctrines  are  of  the 
past;  its  power  and  means  of  doing  good  are  steadily  decreasing, 
while  in  an  inverse  ratio  rises  the  power  of  the  Protestant  Church. 
The  time  is  not  far  distant  when  will  be  heard  again,  sounding  all 
over  the  world,  those  significant  words  "Rome  is  no  more."  Already 
its  walls  are  crumbling ;  its  foundations  are  disturbed — already  the 
throne  of  its  high  prelate  is  tottering  and  even  now  we  await  to 


RIDGWAY  GEORGE  ROWLEY  103 


hear  the  announcement  of  its  fall!  Popes,  Bishops,  and  Priests 
cannot  sustain  it — all  the  accumulated  wealth  and  centralized  power 
of  ages  fail,  now  in  its  last  extremity,  to  support  it — it  must  go  down, 
and  in  its  place  must  rise  the  higher  and  more  refined,  yet  simpler 
and  more  sublime  faith  of  that  other  Church  whose  head  is  in  Christ 
and  not  at  Rome!  Catholicism  must  die!  and  when  dead  it  shall 
be  for  Protestantism  to  lay  its  finger  upon  the  cold  corpse,  and  ex 
claim,  as  did  the  Prince  of  Orange,  standing  over  the  dead  body  of 
Charles  the  V.,  "//  is  dead,  let  it  be  dead!" 


Hear  Us  for  Our  Cause! 


"Menlonian,"  the  able  correspondent  of  the  Redwood  City 
Democrat  writing  from  Menlo  Park,  says  in  last  week's  Democrat: 

"The  Mayfield  Palo  Alta,  bearing  the  editorial  ear-marks  of 
Ridgway  Rowley  is  at  hand  and  fills  us  with  memories  of  our  own 
correspondent  debut  and  early  journalistic  association  with  him 
upon  the  San  Mateo  Journal.  His  pen  has  lost  none  of  its 
accustomed  trenchancy  nor  its  local  spice.  The  facetious  present 
of  two  decks  of  cards  to  Supervisor  Stafford  from  our  public-spirit 
ed  townsman,  Hon.  John  T.  Doyle,  is  made  the  subject  of  an  edi 
torial  in  which  quiet  Menlo  is  satirically  dubbed  as  the  hoggish 
'Nabobville'  (on  account  of  its  demand  for  a  little  more  than  twen 
ty-five  per  cent  of  its  own  paid-up  road  tax)  and  'Bluff  Jack'  is 
patted  upon  the  shoulder,  all  of  which  is  accounted  for  in  a  deli 
cately-wrought  editorial  in  another  column  upon  highways,  in 
which  the  turnpike  eyesore  of  'Wilson's  Hill,'  on  the  Mayfield  and 
Alpine  road  is  pictured,  over  which  hill  the  produce  of  Ridgway 's 
Alpine  home,  'Sunnyside,'  must  pass,  and  which  hill  is  within  Su 
pervisor  Stafford's  jurisdiction. 

"Thus  do  we  see  the  mote  in  Bro.  Ridgway's  eye.  But  in  ob 
serving  the  mote  in  Mr.  Stafford's  eye,  it  seems  to  regard  Ridg 
way's  flattery  with  a  pleasant  suspicion  as  being  opposed  to  San 
Mateo  county  policy;  for  why  should  this  county  be  improving 
outlets  of  its  own  produce  to  the  town  of  another  county,  when  a 
magnificent  grade  can  be  run  down  the  Coal  Mine  ridge,  or  Martinez 
canyon,  to  Menlo  Park,  shortening  the  route  to  the  railroad  and  its 


104  POETRY  AM)   PROSK  SELECTIONS 


own  county  seat  several  miles?  Now,  if  'Bluff  Jack'  will  not  re 
move  the  hill,  Bro.  Ridgway,  nor  employ  part  of  Menlo's  $8,000 
road  taxes  in  building  a  grade  from  Menlo  to  Alpine,  why  not  let 
us  compromise,  throw  'Bluff  Jack'  to  the  winds,  and  form  a  little 
county  of  our  own?  Let  us  invite  Bro.  Foster  of  Mountain  View 
to  join  in,  so  that  he  will  not  be  an  interloping  foreigner  when  he 
crosses  his  own  county  lines  to  angle  in  the  shady  pools  of  the  Pesca- 
dero.  Let  us  throw  out  our  county  lines  so  as  to  include  Pescadero, 
Alpine,  the  Big  Basin,  Saratoga,  Mountain  View,  Mayfield  and 
Menlo  Park.  Menlo  Park  could  rest  in  its  fame,  Mayfield  be  the 
county  seat,  Palo  Alto  the  college  town,  Mountain  View  the  fruit 
part,  Saratoga  the  manufacturing  town,  Pescadero  the  seaport. 
We  could  build  trident  turnpikes  connecting  Menlo,  Mayfield  and 
Mountain  View  with  the  summit,  then  branch  out  again  in  trident 
routes  to  La  Honda,  Pescadero  and  Santa  Cruz.  We  could  build  a 
railroad  to  Pescadero  and  work  up  Mr.  Loud  for  a  harbor  appropria 
tion  and  a  steamship  subsidy  and  we  could  boodle  the  Legislature. 
We  could  boast  of  our  oaks,  our  college,  our  fruits  and  wines,  our 
great  natural  park,  our  Pebble  Beach.  Why  waste  your  breath 
upon  an  humble  Supervisor,  Ridgway,  while  such  great  possibili 
ties  are  to  be  worked  out?" 

The  above  is  not  impersonal,  by  any  means,  but  we  will  answer 
it,  all  the  same,  just  for  the  public  good  and  our  own  satisfaction, 
which  may  prove  considerable : 

Now,  Mr.  Menlo,  lend  us  your  ears,  and,  long  as  they  are,  we'll 
fill  them  full.  Yes,  we  have  an  axe  to  grind,  and  any  man  who  goes 
to  a  public  stone  usually  has.  Our  axe,  however,  this  time,  is 
only  a  little  hatchet,  and  mayhap,  before  we  get  through,  you  may 
call  it  a  toma-hawk,  and  not  go  amiss.  Yes,  dear  Menlo,  we  want 
a  decent  road  to  "Sunnyside,"  for,  as  it  is  now,  one  may  about  as 
well  climb  to  "Moonside,"  the  stair  up  could  not  be  steeper.  Then, 
the  gcxMJ  man  up  there  has  such  a  jolly,  round  face,  looking  down 
so  much  more  encouragingly  at  one  than  does  a  San  Mateo  Super 
visor  when  approached  to  improve  a  mountain  road. 

Now,  about  the  little  axe.  Let  us  retrospect.  Away  back  in 
the  early  days  of  San  Mateo  county  lived  a  man  named  Temple- 
ton.  He  was  a  politician,  and  worked  politics  in  his  county  for  a 
purpose.  It  finally  elected  him  Judge.  He  is  dead  now,  (iod  rest 
him,  but  we'll  show  presently  that  he  left  his  marks  behind  him. 


RIDGWAY  GEORGE  ROWLEY  105 


He  was  a  man  of  energy,  was  this  same  Horace,  full  of  mental  and 
physical  force  and  activity.  He  would  go  away  back  into  the  then 
dense  redwood  forests  of  your  county,  Menlo,  and  build  him  a  saw 
mill.  When  he  had  it  built,  he  would  ask  the  county  to  build  a 
road  to  it.  And  the  county  always  did  it,  too,  for  he  was  running 
the  county  in  those  days.  By  and  by,  when  timber  got  scarce,  and 
he  wanted  to  move  his  mill  further  back,  back  went  a  county  road 
to  meet  the  new  mill-site.  The  result  was  that,  in  a  few  years,  this 
indomitable  man  had  a  series  of  fine  mountain  roads  built,  which  are 
used  to  this  day  by  the  public  as  the  best  and  most  convenient 
routes  of  travel  across  the  mountain  range  and  coastwise.  In 
fact,  they  are  the  only  roads  in  these  parts;  they  have  never  been 
added  to  or  taken  away  from  since,  so  admirably  were  they  located. 
Indeed,  there  are  persons  still  living  who  are  willing  to  vouch  that, 
had  it  not  been  for  Judge  Templeton's  mills,  these  great  thorough 
fares  would  never  have  been  built  at  all.  In  the  light  of  modern 
days,  Menlo,  we  are  constrained  to  so  think,  ourself.  So,  we  see 
that  to  grind  an  axe  is  not  always  so  grievous  a  thing,  and  the  pub 
lic  may  sometimes  be  thankful  that  some  men  have  axes  that  need 
grinding. 

You  mention  the  "Coal  Mine  Ridge  Road."  Ah,  we  are  glad. 
It  shows  that  your  environment  has  not  completely  saturated  you 
with  the  Upas  drops  dripping  from  your  Park  oaks,  beautiful  as 
they  are.  Now,  we  can  point  our  moral  and  adorn  our  tale  by  use 
of  the  history  of  that  Ridge  road.  Understanding  full  well  the 
great  advantages  it  would  offer  to  all  that  great  mountain  country, 
as  well  as  to  the  county  in  general,  and  Menlo  Park  in  particular, 
we  set  about  in  early  days  to  have  this  road  built  by  the  county. 
But,  by  reason  of  that  contracted  spirit  of  littleness,  and  utter  want 
of  fore-sight,  back-sight  or  any  sight  at  all,  on  the  part  of  your  Hon 
orable  Board,  called  Supervisors — and  which  seems  to  be  an  in 
herited  quality  with  them,  for  it  has  passed  down  through  nearly  a 
whole  generation,  existing  today  as  it  did  a  quarter  of  a  century 
ago,  and  with  what  results  we  will  tell  you  further  along — the  road 
was  lost  in  court,  because  the  sum  of  just  one  dollar  was  not  award 
ed  to  the  owner  as  damages.  We  are  quoting  History  now,  Menlo, 
"'tis  true,  'tis  pity,  and  pity  'tis,  'tis  true."  Several  futile  attempts 
have  since  been  made  to  have  this  road  opened,  but  in  vain. 

Now,  we  come  to  the  point  of  our  story,  the  Alpine  Road,  lead- 


106  POETRY  AND  PROSE  SELECTIONS 


ing  from  May  field.  It  is  the  birthright  of  Mayficld  and  of  Santa 
Clara  county.  San  Mateo  county  did  not  build  a  foot  of  it.  It 
was  built  by  a  Mayficld  man,  Wm.  Page,  from  his  personal  fortune, 
and  the  building  of  it  finally  made  him  a  poor  man.  See  how  much 
better  was  the  plan  of  Judge  Tcmplcton.  No  thanks  to  San  Mateo 
county  for  that  road,  Mr.  Menlo,  and  Mayfield  is  fully  entitled 
to  the  profits  and  privileges  it  offers.  When  fully  constructed, 
this  noble  corporation  steps  in  and  takes  possession  of  it,  without 
paying  a  dollar  recompense  to  its  owner.  But  who  ever  knew 
that  county  to  pay  a  dollar  for  right  of  way,  or  purchase  of  a  moun 
tain  road?  It  acquires  them  only  by  gift  or  theft.  The  roads 
themselves  are  as  few  and  far  between  as  time  and  space  will  per 
mit  ;  just  near  enough  to  bridge  over  time  and  connect  it  with  eter 
nity.  In  the  interval  this  generation  must  all  pass  away,  they  and 
theirs  be  dissolved,  waiting,  hoping,  praying  for  a  change  in  public 
affairs  of  the  county  that  will  lead  to  improvement,  development 
and  prosperity. 

One-third  of  San  Mateo  county  is  today  an  unbroken  wilder 
ness,  untrod  by  man  or  beast,  save  by  the  wild  brute;  impassable, 
impenetrable;  not  a  solitary  road,  not  even  a  bridle  trail  built 
by  the  county  enters  this  vast  domain  of  not  less  than  250  square 
miles.  Yes,  within  a  bare  fifty  miles  of  the  great  metropolis  of  the 
coast,  this  splendid  forest  of  redwoods  lies  untouched  for  a  whole 
generation,  for  want  of  access.  That  metropolis,  too,  deserves  its 
share  of  blame  for  this  situation,  but  more  especially  for  that  de 
scribed  further  along — San  Francisco!  that  sponge  of  the  Pacific 
waters!  that  leech  of  the  State  horse-pond!  Gorged  to  repletion 
with  the  life  blood  of  its  best  friends,  it  now  lies  prostrate  and  inane 
at  the  feet  of  its  competitors,  unable  to  crawl  or  roll  away.  The 
young  North  but  touches  it  with  its  little  toe,  the  ambitious  South 
with  its  little  finger,  and  the  thing  squirms  and  struggles  in  an  almost 
dying  agony.  Now,  let  it  disgorge,  and  begin  again,  and  try  to 
become  a  decent,  honest  city,  where  farmers  and  dairymen,  fruit 
men  and  wine  men  may  not  be  robbed  of  their  last  possession — the 
coat  on  their  back. 

But  Menlo,  where  were  we?  Yes,  we  have  caught  on  again. 
Countless  millions  of  feet  of  lumber,  tenfold  as  many  shingles,  un 
told  cords  of  tan-bark,  and  measureless  cords  of  wood,  could  have 
been,  all  these  years,  pouring  their  enormous  values  into  the  lap  of 


RIDGWAY  GEORGE  ROWLEY  107 


San  Mateo  county.  Today  this  noble  forest  has  fallen  chiefly 
into  alien  hands.  Its  original  owners  have  been  taxed  and  taxed 
by  the  county,  with  no  recompense  or  return  whatever,  until  they 
have  been  obliged  to  let  their  possessions  fall  from  their  hands.  We 
hear  of  taxation  without  representation,  and  here  it  is  with  a  ven 
geance.  Now,  the  bulk  of  the  great  redwoods  of  San  Mateo  county, 
an  inheritance  that  should  have  made  it  rich,  is  tied  up  in  the  hands 
of  that  adventurer  Searles,  through  the  caprice  of  a  foolish  old 
woman,  and  is  thus  lost  to  this  generation. 

Let  us  part,  Menlo,  by  summing  up  what  the  imbecility  of 
your  county  government  has  done  for  you  in  the  last  quarter  of  a 
century.  It  has  set  back  all  that  region  called  the  coast  country, 
extending  from  the  Pacific's  bluffs  to  the  mountain  tops,  and  reach 
ing  the  whole  length  of  the  county,  just  this  number  of  twenty-five 
years.  So  long  ago  all  that  rich  country,  the  best  producing  part  of 
your  county,  and  the  most  valuable,  intrinsically,  today  of  any  of 
it,  was  peopled  by  an  intelligent  and  industrious  class  of  American 
citizens.  Their  ranches  were  homes  of  comfort,  and  some  of  luxury. 
Their  families  were  well  clothed,  well  fed  and  well  housed.  Their 
cattle  spread  over  a  thousand  hills.  The  valleys  were  rich  in  the 
verdure  of  growing  grain.  The  warehouses  on  the  seaside  were 
groaning  with  their  loads.  This  yeomanry  labored  and  waited  for 
a  proper  development  of  their  country,  under  the  belief  that  to  him 
who  labors  and  waits  all  things  come.  Not  so.  Aftei  the  lapse  of 
a  quarter  of  a  century,  not  a  single  new  road  had  been  added  to  their 
country;  the  existing  ones  kept  but  in  an  ill  state  of  repair,  often, 
very  often,  impassable.  Steep  hills  and  mountains  were  climbed 
day  after  day  and  year  after  year,  until  at  last  man's  hope  fled  and 
his  beasts  dropped  dead.  Look  over  that  land  now,  and  what  is 
the  vision?  What  in  place  of  those  once  happy  homes  of  America's 
best  yeomanry?  those  smiling  fields,  and  contented  people? 

Bend  near  to  us,  Menlo  dear,  for  our  voice  is  stifled  with  emo 
tion.  Tell  it  not  in  Gath,  nor  in  the  valleys  of  the  Hebron,  but 
here  in  the  mountains  of  Hepsidam,  we  dare  tell  it.  What  you 
see  in  these  homes,  forsaken  of  their  owners,  on  porch  or  in  parlor, 
is  naught  but  Portuguese  Butter-boxes  and  milk-stools  with  straps 
on  them.  You  see,  in  addition,  a  county  with  8,000  souls  that 
should  have  80,000.  And  still  these  would-be  wise  men,  these 
counsellors  of  a  people,  sit  in  important  state  month  after  month, 


108  POKTRY  AND  PROSE  SELECTIONS 


year  ufier  year,  babbling  like  babes  over  spilt  milk,  or  the  loss  of 
their  nursing  bottle.  The  Past  is  before  them,  the  Present  under 
them,  but  the  Future  never  in  sight . 

We  are  still  talking,  Menlo!  Do  you  hear  us?  Contrast  your 
condition  with  that  this  side  the  boundary  creek,  and  then  we'll 
give  you  a  penny  for  your  thought.  But,  ah!  you  are  realizing 
much  of  it,  else  why  the  thought  of  the  new  county?  You  begin 
to  see  that  the  stream  that  separates  the  two  counties  is  as  deep  as  a 
sea  and  wide  as  an  ocean.  Come  out  of  it!  Come  over!  We  see 
you  want  to  come  over  into  God's  country,  where  we  have  men  and 
brains  and  ways  and  means  to  back  them  up — else  why  that  new 
county  idea?  Ah,  there  you  have  builded  better  than  you  knew. 
Of  this,  more  anon  and  anon,  sir. 


Grandly  Eloquent 


The  following  beautiful  and  eloquent  extract  we  clip  from  a 
speech  of  R.  G.  Rowley,  Esq.,  delivered  as  an  opening  statement  of 
Prosecuting  Council  in  the  "Miniature  Senate  of  the  United  States," 
setting  in  the  Rooms  of  the  Young  Men's  Christian  Association  of 
this  city,  April  16th,  as  a  High  Court  of  Impeachment  for  the  trial 
of  Andrew  Johnson.  It  was  reported  for  the  San  Francisco  Mer 
cury. — San  Francisco  A  merican  Flag. 

"In  every  land  Freedom  is  creating  a  commotion,  and  in  none 
more  than  in  our  own  has  that  constant  endeavor  created  a  greater 
or  more  beneficial  effect:  Here  we  find  her  enemies  completely 
routed,  and  over  the  broad  and  fair  extent  ol  our  domain  lives  not  a 
man  who  can  now  call  himself  a  slave.  In  the  regions  where  the 
cold  north-winds  blow;  in  the  south  where  the  warm  sun-beams 
shine;  in  the  east  where  the  chariot  of  morn  first  comes  with  steeds 
of  fiery  light,  even  to  the  golden  west  where  slow  sinks  the  orb  of 
day  in  the  bosom  of  the  great  deep,  everywhere .  <  <»n^u  niation  and 
confusion  sit  deep  upon  tin-  t.uo  of  the  em-mirs  of  liberty— their 
banners  are  trailing  low  in  the  dust — their  idols  are  fallen,  and  we 
are  here  to  sacrifice  the  last  of  tlu-ir  gods!  Let  us  heap  upon  hi- 
head,  rather  than  lay  at  his  feet,  the  burnt  <>!!< -rings  of  the  people, 


RIDGWAY  GEORGE  ROWLEY  109 


and  then  in  a  whirlwind,  not  of  wrath,  but  of  justice  tempered  by 
mercy,  scatter  them  again,  that  the  poor  object  may  go  forth  free 
and  unharmed,  but  harmless,  an  example  to  all  coming  generations 
that  a  President  of  this  Republic  is  but  a  Subject,  while  the  people  is 
the  Kingl" 


A  City  Asleep 


A  city  asleep  is  ever  to  the  thinking  mind  an  object  of  solemn 
interest.  There  is  an  influence  connected  with  its  contemplation, 
which  almost  involuntarily  raises  the  tide  of  our  thoughts,  and  rolls 
in  upon  us  a  big  wave  of  reflection.  By  it  all  the  petty  weakness 
es  and  frailties  of  the  human  family — all  uncharities,  all  resent 
ments,  all  animosities — are  submerged,  while  the  life-boat  of  faith 
and  hope,  buoyed  up  by  charity  and  forgiveness,  rides  on  the  crest 
of  the  billow.  The  young,  the  old;  the  strong,  the  weak;  the  rich, 
the  poor;  the  great  intellect,  and  the  little;  the  ambitious,  and  the 
unambitious;  the  hopeful,  and  the  despairing,  all  are  now  reduced 
to  one  condition,  alike  helpless  and  dependent — no  incentive  re 
maining  for  strife,  envy,  jealousy,  animosity,  since  "the  lord  and 
his  steward  are  as  one." 

'Tis  thus,  as  one  sits  in  his  room  with  the  "midnight  oil"  burn 
ing  dimly  beside  him,  while  without  "the  sound  of  feet  has  died 
away  from  the  empty  street,"  and  all  is  silent  as  the  tomb  arounel 
him;  save,  perhaps,  the  one  lone  stroke  of  a  distant  bell,  noting  the 
birth  of  a  new-born  day,  while  still  another  catches  up  the  melan 
choly  echo  ere  it  has  ceased,  throwing  it  forth  again  into  the  shades 
of  night — those  watchful  guardians  of  time,  speaking  to  mortals 
in  the  dead  hours  of  sleep,  telling  them  that  the  Car  of  Eternity 
still  rolls  on,  crushing  time  beneath  its  wheels,  and  that  sleeping 
or  waking  still  those  wheels  revolve — it  is  in  this  ominous  silence  of 
the  world's  darkness,  when  we  can  look  up  into  the  face  of  heaven, 
alone,  and  feel,  that  though  still  in  the  heart  of  one  of  the  great 
habitations  of  men,  yet  'twas  thus,  "naked  and  alone  we  were  born, 
naked  and  alone  shall  we  die,  and  naked  go  up  to  the  judgment- 
seat  above!" 


110  I'OKTRY  AM)   I'ROSK  SKLKCTIONS 


Now,  like  a  little  child  at  rest,  a  great  city  lies  sleeping  with 
a  slumber  deep  and  sweet.  Its  pulse  beats  calmly,  evenly,  peace 
fully,  without  passion,  or  tumult,  or  excitement;  while  the  great 
mother  of  all,  Nature,  stands  tenderly  by  its  bedside,  keeping  watch 
and  ward  through  the  vigils  of  the  lonely  night — oft  looking  up 
anxiously  into  the  face  of  the  Eternal  One,  in  l)eseeching  inquiry 
whether  the  end  were  yet  come,  or  that  still  a  little  while  she  should 
watch  and  wait. 

We  are  conscious  that  everywhere  about  us,  even  close  beside 
us,  separated  only  by  immaterial  veils  of  man's  formation,  lie 
thousands  and  tens  of  thousands  of  beings  like  ourself;  stretched 
out  on  the  couch  of  repose,  and  wrapped  in  the  close  embrace  of  the 
twin  sister  of  death.  All,  children  of  the  same  great  family,  with 
hopes,  impulses,  aspirations  and  ambitions  not  unlike — all  animated 
by  the  same  unseen  and  unknown  inspiration — all  alike  going  for 
ward  toward  the  great  unseen  and  unknown  future — like  children 
strolling  along  the  shore  of  the  great  waters  of  eternity,  casting  each 
his  pebble  of  life  therein,  and  watching  with  prayerful  eye  the 
widening  ripple  till  it  is  lost  in  the  deep  bosom  of  the  ocean.  All, 
breathing  the  same  vital  air,  whence  we  receive,  we  know  not  how, 
the  sustaining  principle  of  life;  satisfied  to  know  its  crimson  tide 
is  made  to  flow  by  a  power  superior  to  our  own — content  to  lean 
in  trust  upon  Him  in  the  hollow  of  whose  hands  all  things  are  held ; 
and  l>elieving  there  still  awaits  us  another  principle  of  life  eternal. 

Thus,  with  but  one  Earth,  one  Heaven,  one  God  we  are  jour 
neying  on  toward  one  great  common  end.  Like  an  army  on  the 
march,  'tis  true,  the  van  often  forgets  the  rear,  individuals  are  lost, 
the  weak,  the  wounded,  the  sick  drop  by  the  waysid?,  forgotten  but 
not  forgetting,  while  the  strong  march  on,  but  soon  they  too  must 
obey  the  final  command  of  "halt!"  when  they  are  willing  to  acknowl 
edge  they  are  no  stronger  no  better  than  other  men,  for  death  claims 
all  alike. 

Thoughts  like  these  come  welling  up  from  one's  heart,  stifling 
and  oppressive.  Never  does  man  feel  more  deeply  the  great  re 
sponsibilities  of  life  resting  upon  him,  or  the  warmth  of  those  mag 
netic  links  of  the  bond  of  brotherhood  which  join  him  so  closely  to 
his  fellowman,  as  when  in  the  stillness  of  the  night,  in  his  chamber, 
alone,  he  casts  his  thoughts  upon  eternity  and  the  things  therein. 


RIDGWAY  GEORGE  ROWLEY  111 


All  the  base  ambitions  of  mortality,  and  the  petty  strifes  of  human 
existence  are  bslittled  and  absorbed.  He  realizes  that  he  is  himself 
but  as  a  grain  of  sand  on  the  sea  shore — but  an  infinitesimal  por 
tion  of  a  great  universe;  and  as  he  looks  from  the  window  of  that 
chamber  into  the  dark  heavens,  and  sees  there,  sown  broadcast  over 
its  face,  myriads  of  grains  of  light,  sparkling  and  beaming  in  their 
deep-set  orbs,  each  of  which  he  knows,  in  the  economy  of  the  uni 
verse,  is  the  germ  of  a  full-grown  world;  and  as  he  attempts  to 
number  them,  or  with  his  eye  fathom  the  depths  of  that  awful  space 
which  surrounds  them,  and  thus  drinks  into  his  soul  a  faint  concep 
tion  of  the  vastness  of  infinity,  and  the  duration  of  eternity,  he  is 
overwhelmed  with  the  consciousness  of  his  own  insignificance,  and 
is  led  to  wonder  that  the  great  God,  who  rules  the  universe,  does 
not  forget  him  and  the  little  earth  he  calls  his  home.  He  shrinks 
within  himself,  feels  the  littleness  of  all  his  efforts,  the  bands  of 
conceit  and  selfishness  fall  off — blind  no  longer,  his  heart  opens, 
his  spirit  goes  out,  and  from  the  yearnings  of  his  soul  there  arise  a 
sympathy  and  a  love  for  the  whole  human  race  that  he  never  felt 
before — while  deeper  down  and  greater  than  this  comes  an  adora 
tion,  a  reverence,  and  love  for  the  Mighty  Author  of  all;  and  'tis 
thus  he  is  led  to  cry,  "Father,  forgive  us,  we  know  not  what  we  do." 
This  is  repentance. 

When  the  Bible,  with  its  abstract  reasoning,  its  cogent  teach 
ings,  its  logic  and  its  history,  fails  to  convince  the  Atheist  of  the 
existence  of  a  God,  I  would  put  a  telescope  into  his  hand,  and  bid 
him,  alone  in  the  silence  and  darkness  of  the  night,  look  up  into 
the  heavens  with  it,  and  there  in  the  mirror  of  the  universe  behold 
the  impress  of  Divinity,  the  image  of  God  himself;  for  it  is  not  only 
"the  untutored  mind  that  sees  God  in  the  clouds  and  hears  him  in 
the  wind,"  it  is  also  the  educated  and  enlightened  mind  before 
which  Truth  has  unrolled  her  ample  scroll  of  science  and  of  wisdom. 
Yet  were  it  not  so,  would  I  rather  be  the  "poor  Indian"  who  can  see 
God  everywhere,  than  the  Atheist,  who  can  see  God  nowhere. 


RIDGWAY  GEORGE  ROWLEY  113 

A  Born  Fool 


The  following  self-explaining  communication  was  received  from 
a  Deputy  Constable  of  a  distant  township.  The  matter  is  one  on 
which  we  have  been  feeling  full  for  some  time;  it  is  one  of  consid 
erable  moment  to  the  public,  far  more  so  than  to  Mr.  Deputy 
Constable,  therefore  the  opportunity  is  taken  to  illustrate  the  sub 
ject  with  an  appropriate  pen-picture: 

"The  Board  of  Supervisors  evidently  expects  a  man  to  work  for 
nothing.  A  warrant  of  arrest  being  placed  in  my  hands  to  arrest  a 
man  for  an  attempt  to  poison,  I  followed  the  accused  to  Santa  Clara 
county  before  I  made  the  arrest  (some  forty  miles  distant),  and 
brought  him  back  for  trial;  sat  up  two  nights  with  him.  As  there 
was  no  calaboose  in  town  I  had  to  sit  up  to  guard  my  prisoner.  I 
also  paid  fifty  cents  a  meal  for  him  for  three  days.  I  presented 
my  bill  to  the  Board  of  Supervisors  for  $30,  as  low  a  figure  as  I 
could,  and  they  cut  it  down  to  $10.  The  mileage  for  forty  miles 
would  amount  to  nearly  $10,  besides  serving  the  warrant,  which  was 
$2;  his  board  $4.50.  They  ought  to  allow  a  man  something  for 
sitting  up  all  night.  Now,  Mr.  Rowley,  I  wish  you  would  touch 
them  up  a  little  to  let  them  know  that  deputized  constables  do  not 
work  for  nothing." 

Now,  Mr.  Constable,  we  don't  just  rightly  know  whether  it 
is  the  business  of  the  Board  to  "allow  a  man  something  for  sitting 
up  all  night."  If  this  was  so,  there's  lots  of  fellows  over  this  way 
who  would  present  bills  for  services.  They  live  now  by  "sitting 
up  nights,"  and  if  the  Board  would  allow  them  pay  for  it  they  would 
live  much  better,  certainly.  Then  again  much  depends  on  who 
one  sits  up  with.  It  would  be  a  privilege,  in  some  instances,  worth 
paying  for,  rather  than  being  paid  for.  In  your  particular  case, 
Mr.  Constable,  it  was  certainly  preferable  "to  sit  up  all  night." 
with  that  fellow  than  to  have  gone  to  bed  with  him.  You  had  your 
choice,  and  it's  hardly  the  right  thing  now  to  ask  pay  for  the  best 
choice,  when,  if  you  had  taken  the  poorest  you  wouldn't  have 
thought  of  charging  the  county  for  it. 

You  are  evidently  a  green  hand  at  the  bellcws,  Mr.  Deputy 
Constable.  You  shouldn't  reckon  without  your  host.  If  you  knew 
the  little  peculiarities  of  that  Board  of  Supervisors  as  well  as  we  do, 


114  I'OKTRY  AM)  PROSE  SELECTIONS 


you  wouldn't  have  made  such  a  fool  of  yourself  as  you  have.  Thirty 
dollars  for  arresting  a  prisoner  for  poisoning  a  man?  You  ought 
to  have  known  better.  \Vhy,  with  that  Board,  thirty  dollars  is 
enough  to  pay  for  arresting  ten  prisoners  for  poisoning  ten  men.  Yes, 
sir!  What  you  should  have  done  was  to  have  gone  to  your  Dist. 
Roadmaster,  or,  for  that  matter,  any  other  one  in  the  county,  and 
told  him  what  a  foolish  scrape  you  had  got  into.  He'd  have  fixed 
it  in  a  minute  so  you'd  have  got  your  money.  He'd  have  just 
tacked  it  on  to  the  tail  end  of  one  of  those  thousand  dollar  bills  of 
his,  under  the  head  of  "sprinkling  road,"  or  "plank  for  a  bridge," 
or  "hauling  rock,"  or  some  indefinite  little  thing  like  that,  and  away 
the  bill  would  have  gone  to  the  Auditor,  and  "no  questions  asked." 
Take  our  advice,  you  green  deputy,  and  when  you  arrest  another 
man  for  murder,  just  tell  him  you  don't  propose  to  pungle  for  his 
bed  and  board  in  advance.  Inform  him  how  economical  the  Board 
is,  and  that  his  board  must  come  down  to  it.  Feed  him  on  Spring 
Valley  soup.  An  ocean  of  it  ain't  worth  a  picayune,  in  Lawrence's 
estimation ;  still,  he  lives  on  it,  and  some  ten  thousand  other  flunkies ; 
—  (flunkies  we  mean — for  see  how  the  late  city  election  was  carried 
by  their  aid.)  Don't  sit  up  to  watch  your  prisoner  all  night,  ex 
pecting  the  Board  to  pay  for  it.  Just  knock  him  in  the  head  with  a 
club  so  that  he'll  lay  still  until  morning.  If  he  should  happen  to  be 
still  lying  quietly  in  the  morning,  when  you  wanted  to  go  with  him, 
why,  don't  fret  about  it,  you  could  walk  out  of  the  county  at  your 
leisure;  for  assuredly  there  isn't  another  deputy  constable  like 
yourself,  who  would  pursue  a  murderer  at  their  own  expense,  think 
ing  to  get  it  back  from  that  Board;  that  is,  if  their  bill  is  over  four 
bits. 

Please  don't  call  upon  us  to  "touch  them  up  a  little,"  "to  let 
them  know  deputized  constables  do  not  work  for  nothing,"  for  we 
couldn't  possibly  "touch  them"  on  that  subject  in  your  interest. 
Their  sense  of  touch  is  about  as  sensitive  and  touching  as  the  tip  of 
a  Kangaroo's  tail.  A  sledge  hammer  wouldn't  touch  it.  And  then 
you  should  take  some  lessons  in  constabulary  business  in  this  coun 
ty  before  you  act  so  rashly  and  innocently  as  to  put  out,  bald-head 
ed,  and  on  your  own  hook,  to  catch  a  runaway  murderer.  You 
should  come  over  here  and  talk  with  the  Sheriff  on  the  matter,  and  get 
some  valuable  ideas  from  him.  He  could  tell  you  better  than  that. 
In  fact  almost  any  police  officer  in  the  county  could.  You  have, 


RIDGWAY  GEORGE  ROWLEY  115 


made  the  unpardonable  mistake  in  this  county.  In  short,  you  must 
be  a  natural-born  fool,  and  we  don't  want  to  be  bothered  any  more 
about  you,  or  your  foolish  bills.  In  the  meantime,  though,  you 
have  the  right  to  sue  the  county  for  the  amount  of  a  just  bill,  and 
then  the  Board  will  call  upon  us,  as  District  Attorney,  to  defend 
their  act,  and  we'll  do  so  before  a  jury,  just  as  we  do  here,  only  a 
little  more  so. 


College  Jamborees 


The  recent  decided  manifestation  of  an  overplus  of  animal 
spirit  on  the  part  of  some  of  the  Berkeley  students,  wherein  an  old 
woman's  geese  were  plucked  and  broiled,  a  cow  introduced  into 
the  girls'  sleeping  apartments,  and  the  same  bombarded  with  pump 
kins  and  beer  bottles,  proves  one  little  fact,  however,  that  is  often 
lost  sight  of  in  these  college  disturbances.  The  Freshman  class 
generally  come  in  for  the  greater  share  of  the  blame,  as  being  the 
younger  and  hot-headed  ones.  But  an  investigation  in  this  Berke 
ley  trouble  showed  up,  what  many  other  similar  inquiries  would 
doubtlessly  disclose,  that  the  Freshmen  had  nothing  to  do  with  it. 
It  was  the  oldest  class  in  the  University,  the  Seniors,  who  were  the 
principal  offenders  against  the  order  and  good  name  of  the  institu 
tion.  And  it  will  generally  transpire  that  the  younger  class  at  col 
lege  is  the  most  cautious  and  timid,  and  therefore  the  most  conserva 
tive  set  in  the  lot.  They  have  a  long  future  before  them  in  the 
college,  and  so  are  more  careful  of  their  reputation;  while  the  older 
classes,  Seniors  especially,  who  are  about  through  with  their  course, 
are  not  so  particular,  and  will  get  on  jamborees  that  a  Freshman 
couldn't  possibly  raise  gall  enough  to  compass.  His  youth  and 
inexperience  wouldn't  carry  him  through.  So,  in  the  Berkeley 
disturbances  of  last  week,  three  Seniors  were  expelled,  and  several 
others  suspended. 

It  seems  that  the  W.  C.  T.  U. — which  the  boys  translate  as 
the  "Women's  Contemplated  Trouble  Union" — have  seriously  ta 
ken  hold  of  the  matter,  and  are  determined  to  involve  not  only 
students,  but  members  of  the  faculty  as  well.  They  charge  that 
there  is  a  private  "Professors'  Room"  at  Haggerty's,  a  notorious 


116  P<  >KTRY  AND  PROSE  SELECTIONS 


"Ginger  Pop"  establishment,  close  to  the  University  gateway,  and 
that  all  the  corks  there  drawn  do  not  pop,  but  many  can  be  loosed 
easily  and  noiselessly.  This  question  of  corks  has  set  the  whole 
University  of  California  to  popping  in  a  most  fizzling  manner, 
(juite  detrimental  to  good  order  and  discipline,  as  well  as  to  dignity 
and  character.  If  the  charges  are  well  laid,  it  does  strike  one  as  a 
forcible  projx)sition  that  there  could  be  men  enough  found  to  handle 
such  a  privileged  sex  question  without  resorting  to  the  aid  of  fe 
males,  even  if  they  do  belong  to  the  W.  C.  T.  U. 


Mac-Dough!  Hold!  Enough! 


"A  new  paper,  published  at  May  field,  is  called  the  May  field 
Palo  Alto.  This  is  like  establishing  a  paper  here  and  calling  it 
the  Santa  Cruz  Soquel,  only  that  Mayfield  is  in  Santa  Clara  county 
and  Palo  Alto  in  San  Mateo  county.  The  city  of  Santa  Cruz  and 
the  town  of  Soquel  are  in  the  county  of  Santa  Cruz." — Santa  Cruz 
Sentinel. 

Well,  well,  this  makes  us  tired.  It  is  bad  enough  for  San  Fran 
cisco  papers  to  continually  place  Stanford  University  in  San  Mateo 
county;  a  newly  published  magazine  to  get  Menlo  Park  into  Santa 
Clara  county;  and  for  outsiders  and  strangers  to  eternally  mix  up 
and  misplace  all  the  geography  of  this  section  of  the  country,  until 
no  one  knows  where  to  find  his  town  or  what  his  county  is.  But 
for  as  old  a  resident  of  San  Mateo  county  as  the  editor  of  the  Santa 
Cruz  Sentinel  to  make  such  a  mess  of  truth  as  the  above  only  con 
firms  the  rather  sarcastic  remark  often  made  by  laymen  that  "The 
Great  American  Fool"  is  a  country  editor.  A  fool  to  waste  his 
life  in  such  a  sapless,  hapless,  enterprise.  Then  his  usual  ignorance 
and  conceit  so  far  outspeed  his  f(x>lish  enterprise,  that  the  end  is 
laughable  as  well  as  lamentable,  and  this  is  his  obituary:  "Here  lies 
the  Great  American  Fule,  who  spent  his  life  like  a  poor  ring  mule, 
three  days  in  a  circus  and  one  in  a  school."  Now  that  we  had  got 
back  into  the  profession,  we  had  hoped  never  to  hear  the  remark 
again,  but  In-yond  all  patirnrr  \\  ••  nui>t  ivprat  ii  and  believe  it,  and 
if  it  includes  ourself,  for  truth's  sake  we'll  stand  with  the  laymen  and 
withdraw  all  pretension*. 


RIDGWAY  GEORGE  ROWLEY  117 


Now  there  isn't  a  single  straight  assertion,  save  an  accidental 
one,  made  in  the  above  remarks  of  the  Santa  Cruz  Sentinel  editor; 
he  who  brags  that  he  has  a  private  graveyard  of  murdered  news 
papers,  and  that  his,  above  all,  proves  the  survival  of  the  fittest. 
Oh,  may  the  ghosts  of  these  departed  ones  haunt  ye,  Duncan,  and 
prove  the  Macbeth  of  your  weary  life,  until  you  do  penance  by  the 
study  of  the  plan  of  your  native  land. 

That  "new  paper"  is  not  a  new  paper.  It  has  been  published 
nearly  two  years,  and  has  long  been  acknowledged  by  the  Sentinel 
as  one  of  its  exchanges.  It  is  not  called  the  "Mayfield  Palo  Alto," 
but  is  called  the  "Weekly  Palo  Alto."  The  comparison  with  a"San- 
ta  Cruz  Soquel"  is  impotently  as  well  as  impudently  lame,  because 
Palo  Alto  is  not  in  San  Mateo  county,  it  is  in  Santa  Clara  county — 
where  Mayfield  is,  if  you'll  but  believe  us,  Duncan.  "Palo  Alto" 
is  not  the  name  of  a  town;  it  is  the  name  of  a  tree,  and  of  a  ranch, 
and  of  a  horse,  and  of  a  newspaper,  and  thank  God  they  are  all  in 
Santa  Clara  county.  Even  the  latter  part  of  your  assertion,  simple 
as  it  seems,  is  not  correct,  Duncan;  for  years  you  have  told  us  and 
made  us  believe  that  your  home  and  snorting  ground,  the  city  of 
Santa  Cruz,  embraced  within  its  magnificent  limits  the  whole  of 
the  poor  little  county  of  Santa  Cruz,  and  we'll  not  now  go  back  on 
your  early  teachings.  Soquel  your  feelings,  Mac,  and  give  us  no 
more  such  slack. 


More  Dam  Nonsense 


As  intimated  in  last  week's  Journal,  the  little  chicks,  which  the 
old  patent  incubator,  now  a  long  time  well  known  in  this  State  as 
the  San  Mateo  County  Board  of  Equalization,  had  resolved  should 
break  their  shells  and  come  forth,  were  hatched  out  on  the  last  days 
of  the  concern — Saturday  and  Monday.  On  Saturday  Spring 
Valley  was  reduced  from  $1,051,830  to  $407,010— a  reduction  of 
$644,820 — made  in  a  very  few  minutes.  There  is  one  advantage 
our  honorable  Board  of  Supervisors  has  over  most  other  ministe 
rial  or  judicial  bodies  known  to  the  jurisprudence  of  the  laws,  and 
that  is,  that  all  its  important  matters  are  well  considered  and  digest 
ed  before  assembling.  This  expedites  public  business  very  much. 


118  POKTRY  AND  PROSE  SELECTIONS 


Valuable  public  time  is  saved,  and  a  good  square  solid  conclusion 
can  be  reached  in  that  way  much  more  readily  than  by  the  old  fogy 
way  that  most  tribunals  and  courts  have,  of  waiting  to  hear  evi 
dence  offered  before  it,  and  deciding  issues  after  the  fact,  rather 
than  before  it,  and  in  Court  rather  than  out  of  it.  For  quick  per 
ceptions  and  apt  business  qualities,  San  Mateo's  Board  can  beat 
all  the  Boards  on  this  coast,  from  the  Board  of  State  Prison  Direct 
ors  to  the  board  at  Ames'  chute  over  which  grain  slides,  from  a  long 
ton  to  a  very  short  one. 

Hon.  Chas.  N.  Fox  appeared  as  attorney  for  Spring  Valley 
Ircfore  the  Board,  and  offered  an  extended  argument  in  favor  of  the 
reduction  asked  for.  Reference  to  the  article  on  the  opposite  page, 
entitled  an  "Interesting  Document,"  will  show  the  basis  of  the 
counsel's  argument,  and  the  detailed  statement  of  the  reduction 
asked  for.  Mr.  Elliott,  the  city  agent,  was  produced  as  a  witness. 
He  it  was  who  made  the  application  vice  Mr.  Lawrence,  resigned,  be 
cause  of  a  little  warmth  created  in  Spring  Valley's  water,  by  the 
District  Attorney's  objecting  to  Lawrence  acting  as  such,  and  at 
the  same  time  sitting  in  judgment  on  his  own  application. 

Mr.  Elliott  swore  that  the  flumes  are  rotten,  and  worth  no 
more  than  they  would  be  for  kindling  wood.  The  pipes  are  bursted 
to  pieces,  and  will  have  to  be  replaced  immediately.  It  will  cost  a 
great  deal  to  dig  them  up  and  throw  them  away,  to  give  room  for 
the  new  ones;  therefore  they  are  an  actual  incumbrance,  and  should 
be  treated  as  such.  The  tunnels  are  only  holes  in  the  ground,  and 
wouldn't  be  taken  in  payment  of  a  solvent  debt  by  any  man  in  the 
State.  Mr.  Fox  followed  up  this  line  of  logic  and  deep  thought, 
by  an  argument  showing  that  "under  the  revenue  laws  of  the  State" 
he  had  the  right  to  take  each  assessed  article  separately,  and  prove 
what  it  was  worth,  independent  of  its  fellows,  or  of  the  system  of 
which  it  formed  a  part.  "What,"  says  the  counsel  learned  in  "the 
revenue  laws  of  the  state";  "what  is  that  old  rotten  tlunie  worth, 
but  its  value  for  kindling  wood?  What  that  ruM«l  nut  sheet-iron 
pipe?  What  would  you  give  for  it,  Mr.  Chairman:'  How  can  you 
say  that  hole  in  the  hill  has  any  value!  \\h<>  \\imld  buy  it?  what 
could  they  do  with  it  if  they  bought  it  ?  what  could  anybody  else  do 
with  these  dams?  what  earthly  value  have  they?  who  would  take 
one  of  tilt  in  alone,  in  pa\  ni<  nt  «»t"  a  H»!\  (  nt  <K  1  >t .  a-  requin  d  by  the 


RIDGWAY  GEORGE  ROWLEY  119 


'revenue  laws  of  the  State?'      It  may  be  a  dam,  but  it  isn't  worth  a 
dam!" 

This  gentleman  then  quoted  from  "Angel  on  Water  Courses," 
to  show  that  the  water  went  with  the  land,  and  couldn't  be  in 
cluded  with  the  dam,  and  other  personal  property  or  improvements. 
The  District  Attorney  replied  to  this  that  he  thought  a  legal  work 
entitled  "The  Devil  on  Spring  Valley's  ponds"  would  be  more  ap 
plicable  to  the  case  than  any  "Angel  on  Water-courses," — that 
there  was  nary  angel  in  the  case  that  he  could  see,  and  that  what  was 
good  law  on  natural  streams  and  water  courses,  did  not  hold  good 
in  relation  to  artificial  reservoirs,  and  created  supplies  of  water, 
collected  for  purposes  of  sale  and  commerce;  that  to  tear  property 
to  pieces,  and  in  detail  say  each  piece  was  worthless  to  a  buyer,  was 
well  illustrated  by  the  watch  he  held  in  his  hand.  It  was  a  valuable 
piece  of  property  as  an  entirety,  but  tear  the  wheels  out  of  it  one 
by  one,  and  say  they  shall  be  sold  one  by  one,  for  some  other  pur 
pose,  such  as  to  run  a  mill  with,  and  of  course  they  are  valueless,  and 
so  could  the  whole  watch  be  proved  to  be  of  no  value ;  for  adding  the 
nothings  together,  and  nothing  is  still  the  sum.  But  it  is  "under 
the  revenue  law  of  the  State,"  replies  the  crafty  Fox.  So  the  whole 
specious  argument  in  behalf  of  his  client,  was  to  beat  the  revenue 
laws  of  the  State.  There  was  no  plea  of  injustice,  nor  of  too  great 
valuation  of  property  in  reality  and  fact ;  none  that  they  should  not 
pay  taxes  on  a  valuable  property  of  right,  but  only  the  specious 
pettifogging  that  "under  the  revenue  laws  of  the  State"  their  prop 
erty  had  no  value,  and  should  not  be  assessed. 

Now  there  is  but  one  conclusion  reached  by  an  observing  mind, 
in  this  nice  matter,  and  that  is  this:  That  Spring  Valley,  having 
been  represented  in  the  Legislature  well  and  truly,  its  representa 
tions  have  had  a  big  finger  in  framing  those  same  revenue  laws  of 
the  State!  and  that  a  like  amount  of  craft  exhibited  by  its  represent 
atives  there,  as  here,  would  make  the  revenue  laws  of  the  State,  as 
they  probably  are,  the  work  of  this  pernicious  agency.  So  Spring 
Valley  seeks  to  take  advantage  of  its  own  wrong,  and  having  made 
the  "revenue  laws  of  the  State"  so  loose  as  it  thinks,  that  they  can 
drive  a  horse  through  them,  and  so  starts  an  ass  ahead  to  break  the 
way,  and  make  a  hole  big  enough  for  the  horse  to  follow. 

In  reply  to  the  question  of  the  District  Attorney,  "What,  in 


120  I'OKTRY  AND  I'ROSK  SKLKCTIONS 


your  estimation,  is  the  entire  property  of  Spring  Valley  in  this  coun 
ty  worth?  Mr.  Fox  objecting  strenuously  to  the  question  as  im 
pertinent  and  immaterial,  while  the  witness  very  hesitatingly  an 
swered,  "that  would  take  six  men  two  weeks  to  compute."  The 
questioner  agreed  with  the  witness,  and  proposed  to  the  Board  that 
the  six  men  should  be  set  to  work  immediately,  and  that  the  Board 
adjourn  for  the  two  weeks  to  receive  the  answer.  But  this  was 
only  like  throwing  chaff  in  a  wind,  or  pearls  before  swine,  for  the 
"majority  of  the  Board"  had  had  their  minds  made  up  ever  since 
the  time  when  they  found  they  couldn't  influence  the  Assessor  to 
"tumble"  to  them,  to  reduce  Spring  Valley,  and  they  reduced  it 
from  $1,051,830  to  $407,010 — a  loss  to  poor  but  honest;  tax-payers 
of  $644,820  assessable  property,  representing  a  revenue  to  the  coun 
ty  of  SI  1 ,284 — taxes  to  be  paid.  Thus  endeth  the  second  chapter  of 
this  interesting  history;  but  the  third  chapter  will  be  different. 


Bare— Not  Bear     Facts 


Hitherto  we  have  had  some  considerable  native  and  acquired 
confidence  in  newspaporial  veracity,  as  well  as  voracity.  But  since 
the  publication,  in  our  absence,  of  that  "bear  story"  concerning  us, 
appearing  first  in  the  Journal,  and  then,  as  usual  in  all  news  matters, 
after  l>eing  Cooked  over  and  made  to  agree  in  spirit  and  substance 
with  the  line  of  noble  thought  running  in  the  master  mind  of  the 
editor  of  the  Gazette — in  this  instance  such  "spirit"  being  quite  na 
tive  and  to  the  manor  born,  to-wit:  the  translation  of  as  noble  an 
animal  as  a  roaring  grizzly,  the  one  that  treed  Rowley,  into  a  grunt 
ing  hog,  a  pen  companion  of  friend  Cook,  of  course  appearing  in 
that  latter  paper,  why,  our  sublime  faith  in  eternal  truth  has  been 
most  sadly  and  severely  shaken,  so  that  now,  were  we  asked,  "Who 
next  to  Roscoe,  is  the  greatest  liar  in  America.'"  we  should  unlie^i- 
tatingly,  but  blushingly  reply,  "ye  newspaper-man." 

We  have  ordered  that  fool  of  a  newspaper  stopped,  and  shall 
take  it  no  longer — we  mean,  of  course,  the  Journal,  for  that  other 
paper  hasn't  sense  enough  about  or  in  it  to  cause  even  a  hall -wax- 
decent  Darwin  ape,  let  alone  a  tolerable,  endurable  human  fool, 
to  take  it  or  read  it — and  in  this  grand  exercise  of  the  glorious  pre- 


RIDGWAY  GEORGE  ROWLEY  121 


rogative  and  divine  right  of  the  great  American  citizen,  to  wit :  of 
stopping  the  newspaper  which  he  takes  but  never  pays  for,  we  feel 
profoundly  proud,  under  the  sweet  consciousness  of  obliterated 
wrongs  and  that  we  are  now  "even"  with  the  man  who  would  dare 
to  profane  our  sacred  name,  or  take  it  in  vain  through  the  newspaper. 

No,  gentlemen,  though  we  had  grovelled  with  Cook's  hogs  all 
our  life,  and  had  taken  to  trees  on  the  call  of  screech  owls  to  their 
mates,  and  all  our  neighbors,  and  the  rest  of  mankind,  had  known 
these  things  of  us  from  our  sap-trough  up,  never  shall  we  allow  our 
character  and  courage  to  be  questioned  through  a  newspaper!  We 
tell  you  that  the  difference  betwixt  published  and  unpublished  facts 
is  great,  it  is  awful,  it  is  most  profound.  Although  newspapers  are 
of  no  account,  have  no  influence,  nobody  paying  any  attention  to 
what  they  say,  or  how  they  say  it;  and  though  to  advertise  a  busi 
ness,  or  a  trade,  or  a  profession,  or  a  name,  in  their  columns,  is  but 
to  throw  so  much  money  away;  though  to  publish  in  them  the  good 
a  man  may  do  in  this  world,  goes  for  naught,  and  weighs  as  nothing 
with  him ;  yet  you  do  tell  us  that  when  the  bad  concerning  him  is 
published,  it  is  much,  it  is  something  to  make  that  newspaper  in 
stantly  accountable  for;  because,  don't  you  see,  there  are  a  thous 
and  eyes  seeing  it,  a  thousand  minds  revolving  it,  a  thousand  tongues 
discussing  it. 

Yes,  gentlemen,  the  press  is  of  no  account,  it  has  no  influence, 
its  publications  are  harmless,  its  advertisements  are  worthless.  We 
would  advise  you  to  pay  no  attention  to  what  the  papers  say  of  you, 
good,  bad,  or  indifferent;  the  good  they  say  can  do  you  no  good, 
therefore  the  bad  they  publish  concerning  you  can  do  no  harm. 
But  you  answer  that  your  bad  conduct  published  will,  does,  do  you 
great  harm.  But  why,  friend,  this  great  and  sudden  difference? 
Why  do  you  thus  make  fish  and  fowl  of  the  same  dish,  to  suit  your 
fancy?  Because  there  is  a  difference,  you  say.  Yes,  friend,  there 
is  a  difference,  a  great  difference,  and  it  is  your  conscience  alone 
that  makes  the  difference.  It  is  this  silent  monitor  of  the  soul  that 
speaks  to  you  and  tells  you  that  you  are  convicted,  and  you  feel 
that  men  will  believe  it  of  you,  because  you  believe  it  of  yourself. 
This  is  why  your  feelings  are  so  suddenly  outraged ;  you  have  out 
raged  them  yourself.  Your  demand  for  satisfaction  is  not  as  an 
atonement  for  any  wrong  done  you,  really,  it  is  only  a  means  of 


.2 


~2*o 


RIDGWAY  GEORGE  ROWLEY  123 


resentment  and  revenge,  and  is  a  futile  attempt  to  justify  yourself 
by  yourself.  But  it  is  a  rule  of  moral  conduct  that  sin  and  wrong 
can  never  satisfy  or  justify  itself.  The  bare  attempt  to  make  it 
do  so  but  leads  the  subject  to  further  wrongs,  to  the  commission  of 
greater  sins. 

So  it  is  that  one  of  the  three  usual  methods  of  '  'getting  even ' '  on 
the  editor  is  adopted;  first,  for  publishing  little  truths,  just  prick 
ing  the  thin  skin  of  the  conscience  a  little — by  stopping  the  paper; 
second,  for  greater  truths,  piercing  man's  moral  monitor  still  deep 
er — a  written  retraction  demanded;  third,  under  the  smart  of  still 
graver  facts  published,  entering  the  very  core  of  the  conscience  by 
their  deep  penetration  into  the  guilty  soul — satisfaction  by  blood. 
Men  should  remember  that  as  virtue  has  its  rewards,  so  vice  has  its 
penalties,  and  that  to  break  the  moral  laws  of  nature,  implies  pun 
ishment  as  well  as  to  break  her  physical  laws,  and  that  no  amount  of 
self-imposed  conceit  or  deceit,  or  wrestling  with  one's  own  soul  under 
the  simple  belief  that  the  burden  of  the  penalty  and  obligation  can 
thus  be  shifted  to  another's  shoulders — or  that,  in  short,  it  is  he,  the 
editor,  who  is  the  sinner,  and  not  ourself  the  original  guilty  one- 
can  absolve  us  or  make  us  whole  again. 


The  Reason  Why 


"Warden  Ames,  of  the  State  prison,  is  supposed  to  be  interested 
in  a  grist-mill  at  Half  Moon  Bay,  and  a  half  moon  circle  correspond 
ent  says  he  has  sent  down  but  a  part  of  the  water-wheel  promised, 
and  the  irresponsive  ink-slinger  intimates  that  the  investigation  go 
ing  on  at  the  State  Prison  may  interfere  with  its  arrival.  We  guess 
not.  Ames  is  not  the  kind  of  a  Warden  that  will  let  the  trifling 
matter  of  an  investigation  by  the  State  into  his  official  affairs  in 
terfere  with  the  size  or  revolutions  of  a  first-class  water  wheel. 
The  wheel  will  arrive  on  time.  But  why  does  Rowley,  the  watch 
dog  of  the  San  Mateo  treasury,  maintain  an  oyster-like  silence  these 
examination  times?" — Santa  Cruz  Sentinel. 

Silence,  dear  friend,  is  the  part  of  wisdom  in  a  time  like  this. 
We  predicted  from  the  beginning  a  total  failure  of  that  investiga 
tion.  No  use  of  undertaking  the  herculean  task  of  cleaning  out  the 


124  POETRY  AND  PROSE  SELECTIONS 


San  Quentin  stables,  without  knowledge  aforethought,  deep,  pene 
trating  and  long  enduring.  It  would  take  a  river  of  pure  water  to 
wash  that  thing  clean.  We're  no  river.  Spring  Valley  gives  us  all 
the  water  we  desire  here  at  home,  it  is  true,  but  it  is  awful  dirty 
stuff,  and  you  can  wash  nothing  white  with  it.  In  fact,  it  makes 
things  Brown  that  it  touches,  indeed  it  does.  Now,  the  little  truth 
is,  we  in  this  county  are  only  too  glad  to  have  the  burden  of  that 
load  which  you  speak  of  so  glibly,  shifted  to  larger  shoulders  than 
ours.  We  sincerely  feel  like  the  wench  carrying  the  tub  of  hot-corn 
on  her  head,  who  was  jostled  by  the  boys  anxious  to  see  it  fall,  when 
she  remarked,  "Go  way  dar,  chillen,  that  corn's  bilin'  hot,  an'  if  it 
comes  down  on  yer  little  white  skins  yer'll  feel  it,  and  Sail  won't 
care  for  the  schucks,  either." 

Ain't  you  great  big  Sentinel  concerned  in  affairs  of  State?  Why 
don't  you  pitch  in  now  and  get  even  on  your  old-time  enemy?  You 
never  had,  never  will  have,  a  better  opportunity.  This,  thank  San 
Mateo's  stars,  and  Governor  Perkins',  is  a  State  concern.  Nobody 
in  this  county  cares  particularly  about  San  Quentin,  save  to  keep 
out  of  it;  and  with  this  crowd  surrounding  one,  it  is  no  easy  matter 
to  do  this.  No,  sir,  Mr.  Sentinel!  we  recall,  with  chills  running 
through  our  marrow,  the  circumstance  of  that  dark  dungeon,  and 
that  awful  hose  turned  on  a  poor  fellow  stretched  out  on  a  ladder's 
rungs,  and  that  bread  and  water  business  for  months,  and  those 
other  little  conventionalities  under  the  control  of  that  Mr.  Warden, 
and  we  care  not,  dare  not,  excite  his  ire  too  much.  The  future  is 
before  us,  and  all  unknown.  You  are  very  anxious  to  have  us 
tread  upon  this  dangerous  ground.  No,  sir;  just  do  it  yourself, 
and  then  when  you  may  fall  in  that  Warden's  clutches — as  fall  you 
may  any  moment,  and  you  know  it — just  send  us  word  about  the 
irregularities  of  San  Quentin,  and  we  promise  you,  as  a  brother 
scribe,  to  get  up  an  investigation  in  your  behalf,  and  when  we  do  so, 
it  will  be  more  successful  than  the  last  one,  and  don't  you  forget  it! 
This  is  a  golden  opix>rtunity,  Duncan ;  seize  it!  embrace  it! 


RIDGWAY  GEORGE  ROWLEY  125 

The  Sack  of  the  Capitol" 


The  Legislature  went  out,  at  last,  on  Friday  night  at  11  o'clock. 
Since  the  Tuesday  previous,  it  had  sat  at  its  own  expense,  that  is, 
nominally ;  but  when  it  is  understood  that  several  thousand  dollars' 
worth  of  stationery  and  postage  stamps,  books,  committee  room 
outfits,  even  to  the  furniture  of  the  rooms,  were  packed  up  in  the 
private  trunks  and  boxes  of  the  members,  it  will  then  be  seen  they 
did  not  sit  in  vain.  Such  vandalism  never  before  disgraced  a  legis 
lative  body.  Why,  one  member,  who  had  not  been  in  his  seat  a 
week,  had  signed  a  ''requisition" — that's  what  they  call  them — for 
stationery,  books,  and  other  valuables,  to  the  value  of  $250.  Such 
is  one  of  the  little  "inside"  movements  of  some  of  the  servants  of 
the  people.  Oh,  yes,  they'll  serve  the  dear  people;  but  they'll  get 
pay  for  it  every  time,  and  don't  you  forget  it.  The  only  difference 
between  stealing,  and  one  of  those  "requisitions,"  is,  that  one  re 
fers  to  private  property,  the  other  to  public.  The  ornaments  of 
the  Capitol,  the  bronze  figures  of  Moses  and  the  other  saints, 
that  adorn  the  dome  and  turrets  of  the  towers,  were  only  saved  from 
being  torn  from  their  pedestals  and  carried  away,  because  the  mem 
bers  were  too  drunk  at  the  time  of  their  final  departure,  to  climb 
up  and  take  them. 

The  janitors  of  the  buildings  were  unable  to  obtain  even  the 
return  of  the  keys  of  the  various  committee-rooms,  though  printed 
notices  were  posted  over  the  walls  for  this  purpose.  These  were 
carried  off.  "The  sack  of  the  Capitol,"  next  to  the  Debris  Bill, 
and  the  Insurance  Bill,  and  the  County  Government  Bill,  will  mark 
the  footsteps  of  that  California  Legislature  with  such  a  brand  as  was 
set  upon  Cain's  brow,  never  to  be  obliterated. 


An  Outrageous  Monopoly 


The  Land,  and  all  that  on  it  is;  and  the  Sea,  and  all  that  in  it  is,  To 
gether  with  its  Fishes,  and  its  Oysters,  and  its  Clams,  are  Ours! 
Ours!  Ours!  to  Have,  to  Hold,  and  to  Enjoy ! 

Thus    claim    the    different    combinations    of    monied    powers 
throughout  the  State.     Having  swept  the  land  and  all  its  products 


126  roKTRY  AM)   I'ROSK  SKI.KCTK  ).\S 


into  their  yawning  maw,  they  now  seek  to  gobble  up  the  seas,  and 
the  waters  of  the  bay,  and  the  lands  beneath  the  waters  of  the  bay, 
and  the  shell-fish  beneath  the  lands  beneath  the  waters  of  the  bay, 
and  the  lands  again  beneath  the  shell-fish  beneath  the  lands  beneath 
the  waters  of  the  bay,  and  the  surface  of  the  waters,  and  the  waters 
themselves,  and  all  moving  things  thereon,  or  therein,  animate  or 
inanimate,  brute  or  human,  beast  or  bird,  fish,  flesh  or  fowl,  muscle 
or  corpuscle,  valve  or  bivalve!  All  are  theirs  by  virtue  of  their 
God-given  right  of  money,  against  any  pretensions  of  human  rights, 
or  claims  of  common  humanity. 

For  the  past  two  or  three  years  thinking  men  have  viewed  with 
some  little  concern  for  the  future,  the  constant  aggressions  of  the 
combination  of  San  Francisco  capital  called  Oystermen.  Little 
by  little  they  have  stealthily  staked  out  and  fenced  the  borders  of 
the  Bay  in  large  tracts,  extending  from  Alviso  on  the  south,  to  the 
Mission  Bay  on  the  north.  So  far  the  operations  of  these  men  have 
been  acquiesced  in  tacitly,  by  the  people  living  along  the  shores  of 
the  Bay,  they  deeming  it  an  enterprise  of  value  to  commerce,  and  a 
public  good.  So  within  bounds  and  reasonable  limits,  this  oyster 
planting  business  is  a  worthy  industry  and  valuable  adjunct  to 
trade.  And  so  long  as  the  enterprise  was  conducted  in  a  fair  and 
proper  manner  by  the  individual  owners  of  planted  beds,  «o  long 
nobody  has  seriously  complained.  But  now  the  situation  is  changed 
altogether.  The  interest  has  concentrated  into  a  very  few  hands, 
as  all  valuable  business  speedily  does  in  California,  to  the  great  detri 
ment  of  the  common  people.  These  immense  oyster  beds  have 
thriven  and  multiplied  beyond  all  precedent.  Oysters  have  spread 
themselves  all  over  the  Bay  and  into  the  sloughs  far  outside  of  every 
prepared  or  staked  bed.  The  bivalves  are  of  the  finest  flavor,  and 
bring  the  highest  prices  in  the  markets.  The  business  has  enlarged 
until  it  has  reached  great  proportions.  The  oystermen  have  found 
themselves  suddenly  rich,  beyond  their  wildest  hope>  and  dreams 
of  success.  Their  oyster  beds  have  proved  a  veritable  bonan/a, 
second  only  to  Flood  &  O'Brien's.  They  are  actually  worth  hun 
dreds  of  thousands  of  dollars,  today. 

\Vtih  this  suddm  and  great  im  iva-r  of  wealth,  has  grown  >elt- 
importance,  presumption,  implicit  no  ,  on  the  part  of  owners, 
until  now  th<  y  absolutely  defy  public  rights,  and  claim  to  own  and 


RIDGWAY  GEORGE  ROWLEY  127 


to  hold,  by  virtue  of  possession,  and  the  fee  from  the  State  as  tide 
lands,  the  solid  body  of  the  bay,  from  the  narrow  limits  of  a  main 
ship  canal  through  its  middle  to  the  shores  on  either  side,  including 
every  navigable  slough,  stream,  estuary  or  creek  leading  thereto. 
They  now  not  only  claim  the  oysters  in  their  beds,  but  all  outside 
them,  miles  away,  all  over  the  bay,  up  the  sloughs  and  inlets,  and 
down  the  creeks,  wherever  they  may  be  found. 

Three  or  four  prominent  citizens  of  this  place  were  arrested 
last  week  by  the  police  force  of  these  grand  monopolists — for  they 
have  special  officers  employed  to  arrest  parties  sailing  for  pleasure 
or  business  upon  their  waters,  which  simply,  as  they  claim  now, 
include  the  whole  surface  of  the  bay,  except  the  deep-water  channel. 
These  cormorants  have  a:tually  the  temerity  to  tell  us  "that  if  it  is 
any  accommodation  to  us  they  will  fence  the  whole  thing  in," 
meaning  thereby,  the  navigable  stream  leading  to  Redwood,  and 
they  mean  it,  too,  because  they  are  setting  themselves  about  doing 
it,  even  now.  Fence  in  a  ship  canal  for  miles!  and  make  oyster  beds 
of  it,  because,  forsooth,  the  tide  leaves  it  bare  in  places,  when  it 
runs  well  out ;  it  is  thus  they  would  found  their  assumed  legal  rights 
thereto. 

The  conduct  of  the  State  authorities  in  selling  the  swamp  and 
tide  lands,  has  undoubtedly  been  of  the  most  shameful  and  bare 
faced  character.  For  money  the  State  officers  have  bartered  away 
rights  and  privileges  which  should  have  been  held  sacred  to  the 
people  forever.  To  what  extent  this  has  been  done  in  relation  to 
sloughs  and  portions  of  the  bay  lying  about  their  mouths,  wre  have 
not  yet  had  time  to  learn  definitely;  but  the  county  map  shows  a 
solid  and  continuous  line  of  locations  for  many  miles  along  the  bay 
shore,  extending  far  out  to  deep  water.  It  may  be  these  arrogant 
parties  have  legal  rights  thereto,  which  it  may  be  difficult  to  sur 
mount  ;  but  we  are  not  yet  prepared  to  believe  the  case  is  so  desper 
ate  as  this.  If  so,  it  will  be  a  terrible  drawback  to  the  free  naviga 
tion  and  use  of  the  waters  of  the  bay — such  an  one  as  will  be  felt  in 
all  its  rigor,  as  these  owners  become  rich  and  richer;  for  with  wealth 
in  this  country  there  seems  to  come  necessarily,  arrogance,  haughti 
ness  and  complete  disdain  of  all  public  or  other  private  rights.  Ours 
are  not  the  large-souled  millionaires  that  can  bless  a  country  and  a 
people  with  their  wealth ;  they  are  rather  of  that  other  kind  who 


128  POKTRY  AM)  PROSK  SKLHXTlnNS 


can  curse  a  land  with  their  overshadowing  selfish  presence,  and 
produce  a  moral,  social  and  financial  blight  on  all  within  their 
reach. 

This  oystt  r  question  is  indeed  getting  to  be  a  serious  one,  and  we 
shall  examine  it  more  closely  in  time.  In  the  interval  the  people  of 
the  county  can  take  this  little  satisfaction,  that  if  these  presuming, 
daring  men  would  defy  them  because  of  their  great  wealth  that  lies 
within  our  borders — if  their  lands  are  so  valuable  that  they  cannot 
be  passed  over  with  impunity,  or  trespassed  upon  save  at  risk  of 
arrest  and  prosecution,  at  the  hands  of  the  people  themselves, 
whom  they  would  rob,  and  through  the  agency  of  whose  laws  they 
seek  redress  at  no  expense  to  themselves — then  the  nominal  assess 
ment  of  SI. 25  per  acre,  now  rated  as  the  value  of  these  lands,  worth 
hundreds  and  thousands  of  dollars  per  acre,  according  to  their  own 
estimate  thereof,  is  no  sufficient  inducement  for  the  people  to  be 
thus  troubled  and  annoyed.  The  Journal  proposes  that  these  oyster 
beds  shall  be  hereafter  assessed  at  a  fair  and  just  valuation,  and 
thus  show  to  these  pirates  of  the  seas,  that  the  people  have  still 
some  rights  left,  wrhich  they  are  bound  to  respect — the  right  of 
property-holders  to  contribute  to  the  revenue  of  the  county. 


Economy  and  the  Ass 


The  Board  of  Supervisors  of  this  county  are  trying  hard,  very 
hard  indeed,  to  be  economical,  and  make  the  public  money  at  their 
disposal  go  as  far  as  possible.  They  should  be  congratulated  on 
their  good  intentions  in  this  respect,  and  on  their  laudable  efforts  in 
this  direction.  Tax-payers  are  all  fully  agreed  th.it  economy  is 
necessary  and  that  that  Board,  of  all  particular  Boards,  should  lie- 
gin  to  exercise  it. 

For  many  years  the  word  "economy"  with  that  Board  meant 
but  giving  to  ''airy  nothing  a  local  habitat  ion  and  a  name."  To 
pr.ictict  it,  or  to  even  make  the  at  lempt  to  do  so.  was  never  thought 
of  for  a  moment.  But  now  all  this  is  changed.  Necessity,  which 
is  the  mother  of  other  brats  beside  invention,  coupled,  it  HUM  !,<• 


RIDGWAY  GEORGE  ROWLEY  129 


ad  mi  tted ,  wi  th  other  circumstances  over  which  they  have  no  control , 
has  made  that  Board  per  se  economical,  or  at  least  driven  them  to 
desperate  attempts  to  be  economical. 

But  to  a  man  up  a  tree,  looking  down  on  the  circus  below,  the 
scene  is  often  a  very  comic,  serio-dramatic  one.  Some  of  the  mem 
bers  of  that  Board  have  about  as  good,  just,  and  perfect  an  idea  of 
the  first  principles  of  public  economy  as  an  ordinary  jack-ass  has  of 
the  value  in  dollars  and  cents,  of  the  load  on  his  back.  If  it  is  cord 
wood  at  $5  a  cord,  and  the  brute  packs  a  quarter  of  a  cord,  he  knows 
it  weighs  300  pounds.  If  it  is  a  bale  of  silk  worth  a  thousand  cords 
of  wood,  he  knows  still,  and  only,  that  he  is  packing  a  full  load  of  300 
pounds.  To  discriminate  between  fish,  flesh  and  fowl,  is  not  an  ass' 
business.  He  has  just  as  much  of  a  load  to  carry,  and  how  best  to 
do  so  with  ease  to  himself,  regardless  of  the  quality  or  value  of  that 
load,  or  whether  it  is  bumped  against  tree  or  rock,  broken  or  torn, 
so  as  it  doesn't  gall  his  tender  withers,  is  a  matter  of  extreme  uncon 
cern  to  Mr.  Donkey. 

To  illustrate  the  Board's  method  and  knowledge  of  economy  by 
referring  to  the  trite  and  usual  illustration  of  "saving  at  the  spigot 
and  losing  at  the  bung,"  is  an  unfair  proceeding  on  the  cooper's 
business,  and  so  the  unimportant  ass  is  chosen  as  a  vehicle  for  con 
veying  the  thought  instead.  The  donkey  may  be  able  to  survive 
the  unwarranted  use  of  its  name,  but  a  good  barrel  and  its  contents, 
never. 

The  heaviest  load  of  economy  which  that  virtuous  Board,  repre 
sented  by  the  aforesaid  donkey,  is  now  wont  to  stagger  under,  is 
the  cord-wood  load,  value  about  $5.  A  thousand-dollar  load  don't 
trouble  the  brute  at  all.  The  soft  silk  bale  fits  the  bony  hollow  of 
his  back  much  easier  than  the  cheap,  rough  pack.  So  is  it  when 
that  Board  comes  across  a  five  dollar  demand  against  the  treasury, 
it  bucks  and  antics  around  until  it  dumps  the  load  all  in  a  heap  at 
its  feet,  and  then  sets  up  a  loud  bray  of  success  and  self-congratula 
tion,  inviting  beholders  to  join  in  praise  of  itself,  as  much  as  to  say 
"see  what  a  great  ass  am  I!" 

Now  the  worst  load  that  pack-animal  ever  had  to  carry,  be 
yond  a  doubt  or  peradventure,  in  this  county,  is  the  present  Dis 
trict  Attorney.  Mr.  Ass  bucks  at  that  load  if  it  is  a  $5  one.  It 


130  I'OKTRY  AM)  PROSK  SELECTIONS 


duni|H'd  a  S5  demand  of  his  once  before,  all  for  sweet  economy's 
sake,  of  course.  Last  Monday  it  bucked  savagely  at  a  seven-dollar 
demand  presented  for  expenses  of  the  District  Attorney's  office  for 
nine  months,  Ijcing  less  than  one  dollar  per  month,  for  necessary 
traveling  expenses  and  hotel  bills  in  prosecuting  criminal  cases  at 
distant  points  in  the  county.  Of  course  he  had  spent  much  more 
than  this  out  of  his  own  pocket,  but  made  no  charge  of  it.  The  law 
fully  justifies  and  allows  such  necessary  expenses  to  be  paid  the 
District  Attorney.  Such  bills  have  been  allowed  to  other  District 
Attorneys  to  the  extent  of  S93  for  a  single  quarter,  and  now  when 
the  almost  ridiculous  bill  of  but  S7  for  three  quarters,  is  presented 
by  the  present  District  Attorney,  it  is  rejected  and  refused  to  be 
allowed. 

And  this  is  done  under  the  name  and  guise  of  economy,  for 
sooth.  But  calling  things  by  their  right  names,  then  it  will  be  said 
rather  to  be  done  as  a  personal  spite  and  petty  means  of  revenge, 
which  can  but  revert  back  upon  the  men  who  would  perpetrate  it, 
and  thus  disgrace  the  name  of  law  and  right  by  their  wretched  per 
sonal  meannesses.  The  result  of  this  action  of  the  Board  will 
be  to  compel  the  District  Attorney  to  refuse  to  go  to  any  distant  part 
of  the  county  to  prosecute  criminal  cases.  To  suppose  that  he  can 
do  so  and  pay  his  expenses  out  of  the  small  stipend  allowed  him  as 
salary,  is  not  only  nonsense,  but  an  open  insult  to  the  officer,  and 
to  the  decent  name  of  the  county. 


Personal  Journalism 


The  curse  of  California  journalism  is  its  personality.  Any 
man  or  set  of  men,  who  would  aspire  to  the  honorable  and  responsi 
ble  position  of  conducting  a  public  newspaper,  should  have  charac 
ter  enough  to  be  able  to  lay  aside  all  personal  feelings,  of  either  ani 
mosity  towards  some,  or  friendship  toward  others,  in  their  conduct 
of  such  paper.  The  Press  is  undoubtedly  the  greatest  lever  of 
either  moral  good  or  evil  that  can  be  established  in  a  community. 
By  it  private  sentiment,  as  well  as  public  opinion,  is  oft  times  mould 
ed  and  established.  With  the  young,  whose  natural  confidence  is 
such  as  to  ever  lead  them  to  have  implicit  faith  in  the  truth  of  what 


RIDGWAY  GEORGE  ROWLEY  131 


they  read  in  print,  the  influence  of  the  paper  they  read  and  trust 
in,  is  often  remarkable.  Far  beyond  the  teaching  of  parents  and 
instructors,  is  the  influence  of  a  moral  journal  over  the  minds  of  the 
young.  A  man  of  experience,  knowing  these  things  to  be  so,  in 
departing  from  a  straight-forward,  manly  course  of  conduct  in  a 
newspaper  he  is  conducting,  can  only  do  so  wilfully,  maliciously, 
and  without  cause  or  concern  for  the  minds  of  the  community  in 
which  his  engine  of  evil  is  circulated.  Worse  than  the  bane  of  the 
Upas  tree  is  the  wide-spread,  far-reaching  poison  distilled  into  the 
minds  of  young  souls  by  an  immoral  editor.  Although  he  may  seek 
to  conceal  the  natural  instincts  of  a  depraved  mind,  by  cloaks  and 
covers  of  pretended  fair  and  high-mindedness,  still  the  gauzy  tex 
ture  is  all  too  thin,  and  it  takes  but  little  fixity  of  gaze  to  discern 
beneath,  the  foul  forms  of  corruption,  deceit  and  falsehood. 

Public  character,  when  necessary  to  subserve  public  ends,  is  a 
proper  and  legitimate  object  of  criticism,  either  of  censure  or  of 
praise.  Private  character,  never.  When  a  man  makes  himself 
amenable  to  the  laws,  in  so  far,  his  private  relations  deserve  scru 
tiny  and  public  comment.  His  business  relations  with  the  world, 
his  ties  of  family  and  kindred,  his  honor  and  integrity  in  his  deal 
ings  with  his  fellow-men,  are,  from  the  very  nature  of  their  privacy, 
sacred,  and  should  be  safe  from  the  attacks  of  any  enemy,  because 
he  happens  to  occupy  a  position  which  enables  him  to  make  a  pub 
lic  parade  and  exposure  of  such  personal  matters,  wherein  the  pub 
lic  can  have  no  possible  interest  or  concern. 

These  thoughts  have  suggested  themselves  to  the  writer  as  he 
read  in  the  Times  and  Gazette  of  last  week,  the  following  local  no 
tice: 

"We  have  to  acknowledge  the  receipt  of  the  subjoined  polite 
note: 

"Redwood  Farm,  Nov.  30,  1879. 

"Ed.  Times  and  Gazette:  You  will  discontinue  forwarding 
your  paper  to  our  address  from  date.  By  presenting  your  ac 
count,  you  will  receive  cash  due  to  date. 

"Yours,  etc., 

"H.  Hawes  for  Mrs.  H.  Hawes," 

What  right  has  the  conductor  of  that  paper  to  publish  to  the 
world  the  privacy  contained  in  that  note?  What  right  has  he  to 


RIDGWAY  GEORGE  ROWLEY  133 


parade  to  public  gaze,  the  name  of  a  prominent  lady  in  such  a  con 
nection  as  this?  Is  there  anything  in  this  communication  of  a 
public  nature  at  all?  Are  the  people  of  the  county  concerned  in  it? 
Does  that  paper  propose  to  publish  the  names  of  all  persons  who 
decline  or  refuse  for  reasons  of  their  own,  to  support  that  sheet? 
If  so,  we  are  quite  sure,  indeed,  that  for  the  next  year  they  will  have 
but  little  space  for  news  or  other  matter.  The  note  is  further  sar 
castically  alluded  to  as  "polite."  This  is  a  fling  unworthy  of  any 
source,  either  public  or  private,  since  the  note  is  simply  a  straight 
forward  business  one,  with  no  attempt  at  either  politeness  or  disre 
spect.  Parties  have  a  right  to  discontinue  that  paper  for  reasons 
of  their  own,  and  if  that  concern  means  to  intimidate  people  from 
asserting  that  right  by  publishing  their  declination,  with  cutting 
allusions  thereto,  we  do  not  mistake  the  character  of  the  people  of 
the  county  when  we  say,  they  will  assert  that  right  regardless  of  the 
penalty.  We  make  no  consideration  of  the  merits  of  any  personal 
controversy  between  the  parties  to  the  above  transaction,  as  to  who 
is  right  or  who  is  wrong  therein ;  it  is  sufficient  for  us  to  know  that 
it  is  purely  personal,  that  is  sufficient  to  brand  with  condemnation 
the  attempt  to  gratify  personal  ill-will  on  the  part  of  a  newspaper 
publisher  toward  a  private  citizen,  by  using  the  great  means  at  his 
command,  in  this  personal,  and  positively  malicious  manner.  It  is 
the  principle  of  the  thing  that  we  discuss,  not  the  merits  of  this 
individual  case. 

As  far  as  The  Journal  is  concerned  and  connected  with  the 
principle  involved  in  this  article,  we  can  say  with  the  utmost  as 
surance,  that  we  know  of  matters  and  things  pertaining  to  the  life 
and  record  of  an  individual  in  this  county,  which,  if  made  public 
through  its  columns,  would  compel  the  subject  thereof  to  step  down 
and  out  from  the  high  position  which  he  occupies  in  the  community, 
and  leave  the  county  in  disgrace.  But  the  knowledge  is  personal 
and  private,  it  has  no  concern  for  the  public  here,  and  never  should 
it  be  used  by  us  except  in  absolute  self-defense.  We  are  willing  to 
take  men  as  they  are,  and  believe  in  their  reform.  We  care  not  for 
their  past,  as  much  as  for  their  present.  There  is  no  more  worthy 
object  of  the  sympathy  and  help  of  his  fellow  man,  than  is  the  poor 
unfortunate  being  whom  the  doors  of  the  State  Prison  have  just 
shut  out  into  the  world  again.  His  attempt  to  reform  and  to  lead 


134  POETRY  AND  PROSE  SELECTIONS 


a  life  of  law  and  virtue  should  l>e  heljK-d,  not  scorned.  The  fact 
that  the  walls  of  that  prison  once  restrained  him  of  his  liberty,  under 
the  law,  is  no  proof  that  he  is  a  greater  rascal  at  heart,  than  hundreds 
of  others  who  escape  punishment. 

No  journal  of  character  and  dignity,  will  descend  to  gratify 
private  ends,  at  public  expense.  So  when  the  author  of  the  article 
in  last  week's  issue  of  the  first-named  paper,  entitled  "Gnawing  a 
File,"  made  another  direct,  and  purely  personal  invasion  of  private 
affairs  and  rights,  the  comments  here  made  apply  as  well.  We 
answer  the  details  of  that  personality  in  our  local  columns.  The 
subject  matter  therein  is  too  gross  and  vilely  personal  to  disgrace 
our  editorial  columns  with.  We  reply  at  all,  merely  because  a 
prominent  and  high  judicial  officer's  name  is  connected  with  the 
scandal.  For  our  own  sake  we  had  no  occasion  to  notice  the  arti 
cle,  nor  should  we  have  done  so.  The  Journal  is  a  public  newspaper. 
The  private  affairs  of  the  editor  have  no  more  right  to  be  connected 
with  it  than  those  of  any  other  private  citizen.  Its  columns  shall 
never  be  used  to  further  his  private  designs  or  defend  his  private 
wrongs,  or  make  in  any  manner  a  personal  journal  of  it.  The  two 
characters,  private  citizen  and  editor,  are  and  shall  be  kept  distinct 
and  aloof  from  each  other,  in  all  its  publication.  That  is  really 
the  best  paper,  which,  like  the  metropolitan  journals,  has  no  person 
al  editor,  or  name  of  one,  at  the  head  of  its  columns.  His  personal 
identity  is  then,  as  it  should  be,  lost.  It  is  the  journal  and  not  the 
man  that  the  public  care  about.  In  the  local  journalism  of  coun 
ties,  however,  this  wise  rule  has  not  prevailed,  and  we  have  but 
yielded  to  the  common  usage  and  custom  in  putting  any  name  for 
ward  in  connection  with  the  management  of  The  Journal. 


Substance  Not  Shadow 


This  little  contrcti  nips  affords  a  good  opportunity  to  speak 
upon  a  subject  which  has  lain  close  to  the  tongue's  end  of  more  than 
one  observant  citizen  within  the  past  few  months.  It  is  the  saving 
at  the  spigot  and  losing  at  the  bung  process  of  economy  adopted  by 
the  Board.  The  chief  economical  effort,  of  Supervisors  G.  and  L. 
most  especially,  is  in  the  direction  of  present  county  officers.  The 


RIDGWAY  GEORGE  ROWLEY  135 


supply  of  blanks,  stationery,  office  furniture,  and  the  little  et-ceteras 
and  wants  of  the  various  offices  were  reduced  to  such  a  minimum  that 
officers  prefer  to  furnish  them  themselves  than  to  run  the  gauntlet, 
and  be  vexed  by  hunting  up  some  member  of  that  ''supply  commit 
tee,"  one  of  which  may  be  at  the  Sandwich  Islands  and  the  other 
at  the  North  Pole.  When  an  officer  wants  something  in  a  hurry 
he  must  communicate  his  wants  to  either  Messrs.  L.  or  G.  and  ob 
tain  their  requisition  for  it.  This  would  take  a  week  on  some  oc 
casions.  The  supply  committee  should  have  a  member  resident  at 
the  county  seat  who  could  be  reached  in  time,  and  make  all  neces 
sary  requisitions.  The  present  District  Attorney  found  his  office 
without  suitable  and  absolutely  necessary  blanks,  which  were  want 
ed  immediately,  so  he  went  to  San  Francisco  and  bought  $12.75 
worth,  paying  for  them  out  of  his  own  pocket,  since  under  the  new 
"requisition"  order  he  could  not  present  a  bill  therefor  to  the  Board. 
He  is  using  his  own  stamps,  paper  and  envelopes,  to  the  extent  of 
several  dollars  a  month.  He  must  borrow  statutes  and  codes,  and 
other  absolutely  necessary  law-books  for  his  office,  or  buy  them 
himself.  He  must  give  up  his  office  to  another  officer,  probably 
wanting  it  with  more  pressing  need,  and  pay  his  own  office  rent. 
He  must  go  begging,  borrowing,  stealing  that  which  the  Board 
should  promptly  furnish  him.  Yet,  when  forsooth  he  presents  a 
petty  bill  for  $5  for  services  distinctly  independent  of  his  office,  he 
is  met  by  the  bully  of  the  machine  with  a  column  and  a  quarter  of 
his  tornado.  And  with  all  this,  but  let  a  road  master  present  a  bill 
for  a  round  thousand  dollars,  more,  or  less,  and  not  one  item  of  it 
will  be  scrutinized,  and  the  Chairman  will  sing  out  in  his  stereotyped 
cry,  "if  there  is  no  objection,  this  bill  will  pass."  It  is  barely 
opened,  let  alone  closely  examined  in  its  details.  And  when  thus 
the  road  funds  become  exhausted,  there  comes  a  steal  from  the 
general  fund  at  the  expense  of  the  general  government  of  the  county 
and  the  payment  of  its  officers,  to  replenish  the  road  exchequer. 
Instead  of  petty  larceny  of  $5  at  the  last  Board,  Cook  should  have 
said  something  about  that  grand  larceny  of  $600  as  then  and  there 
perpetrated. 

And  all  this,  too,  with  a  stable  for  a  Court  House  and  stalls  for 
offices;  a  building  bringing  disgrace  and  reproach  upon  the  people 
of  the  county,  as  well  as  upon  the  Board  which  perpetuates  it.  A 
short  time  ago  we  had  occasion  to  visit  the  District  Attorney  of 


136  POETRY  AM)  PROSE  SELECTIONS 


Santa  Clara  County,  in  his  office  furnished  by  the  county.  We 
ascended  broad  flights  of  massive  stone  steps,  and  passed  between 
huge  columns  of  chiselled  marble,  supporting  a  high  and  beautiful 
dome.  We  traversed  through  high  and  wide  halls,  paved  with 
tablets  of  marble.  We  entered  the  portals  of  a  huge  carved  oaken 
door,  swinging  back  heavily  on  its  massive  hinges.  We  entered  a 
suite  of  magnificent  rooms  with  high  ceilings,  marbled  walls,  great 
high  and  wide  windows,  with  gilded  cornice  and  frescoed  roof; 
soft  beautiful  carpets  under  the  feet;  fine  book-cases  filled  with  a 
competent  law  library;  heavy  armed-chairs  arranged  about  the 
room;  solid  black  walnut  desks  and  tables,  with  beautiful  appoint 
ments.  On  every  hand  were  the  signs  and  evidence  of  comfort  and 
convenience;  of  use  and  ornament;  of  the  solid  substantial  wealth 
of  a  people.  It  could  but  be  a  pleasure  to  sit  and  work  in  such  apart 
ments,  and  the  thoughts  that  would  come  to  a  man  there  would  be 
encouraged  by  the  surroundings-:,  and  be  measurably  greater, 
grander.  We  returned  home  to  the  hovel  furnished  us  by  San  Mateo 
county.  We  entered  the  dismal  cell  allotted  to  the  District  Attor 
ney  of  rich  San  Mateo  county.  And  as  we  looked  around  the 
squalid  7x9  closet,  with  its  narrow  dirty  walls,  its  pine  tables  and 
broken  down  chairs,  with  its  cobwebs  for  frescoes,  and  two-bit 
cotton  drugget  for  tapestry  carpets,  our  heart  sank  within  us,  the 
spirit  of  the  scene  overcame  us,  our  soul  became  depressed,  and  we 
cried  out  in  our  misery,  "How  long,  oh,  San  Mateo,  how  long  shall 
you  be  thus  abused,  and  when  shall  the  time  come  when  you  can 
take  your  befitting  place  and  sphere  in  the  sisterhood  of  communi 
ties?"  Civilization,  advancement,  intellectual  and  moral  progress 
are  stayed,  as  well  as  the  credit  and  honor  of  its  people  sacrificed  by 
the  wretched  policy  of  the  county's  rulers.  And  it  is  from  these, 
and  their  paid  scribblers,  come  columns  of  criticisms  about  five  dol 
lars,  indeed,  when  tens  of  thousands  that  should  have  been  placed 
in  county  buildings,  and  other  necessary  and  valuable  county 
property  have  been  yearly  squandered  on  roads  and  poor- farms, 
and  public  printing,  and  politics  and  party  pets.  Away  with  such 
mistaken  economy  as  this!  Give  us  the  substance  of  economy, 
and  not  its  shadow!  Let  us  carp  about  five  thousand  dollars,  and 
not  five  dollars!  and  let  the  critics  be  honest,  honorable  men,  and 
not  hypocrites  and  frauds. 


RIDGWAY  GEORGE  ROWLEY  137 

Steelheads  vs.  Blockheads 


As  was  pretty  well  believed  by  the  most  observing  fishermen  of 
California's  streams,  the  theory  that  all,  or  nearly,  all  of  the  trout 
species  are  anadromous  (not  anandrous,  as  the  Greek  editor  of 
the  Examiner  has  it)  and  that  their  connection  with  the  sea  was  not 
merely  an  incident  but  a  potent  element  in  their  growth  and  devel 
opment,  has  been  pretty  well  established  by  the  scientific  investiga 
tions  of  Professor  Jordan  of  the  Stanford  University.  The  scales 
of  a  fish,  especially  when  under  the  power  of  the  microscope,  show 
distinctive  features  which  are  much  more  used  and  to  be  depended 
upon  in  classification  than  the  fisher  sport's  manner  of  counting 
teeth  and  measuring  size  of  mouth,  etc.,  and  looking  for  pink,  yel 
low  and  red  tinges  of  flesh.  The  dorsal  and  anal  fins,  not  only  in 
the  number  and  expansion  of  the  rays,  but  in  the  exact  form  of  them, 
are  also  leading  marks  to  identify  or  separate  classes  of  fish.  These 
points — not  noticeable  to  the  casual  observer,  who  is  led  away  by 
size  and  color  chiefly — together  with  the  particular  contour  or 
outline  of  back  and  belly,  and  position  of  eyes,  extremity  of  nose, 
etc.,  are  fast  settling  the  long  mooted  questions  of  the  trout  and 
salmon  business. 

It  seems  our  State  Fish  Commissioners,  not  hitherto  having  the 
fear  of  science  before  their  eyes,  started  into  the  trout  hatching 
business  on  the  diction,  chiefly,  of  local  San  Francisco  sports,  whom 
Dr.  Jordan  has  now  tolerably  well  proven,  do  not  know  a  six-inch 
trout  from  a  two-foot  salmon,  or  whether  the  two  are  one,  or  the 
one  are  two.  For  instance,  the  propagation  of  the  beautiful  rain 
bow  trout,  as  a  fresh-water  fish,  and  one,  which  if  placed  in  the  local 
streams,  would  add  greatly  to  their  proficiency,  has  been  a  specialty 
with  the  Commissioners  for  some  years;  and  these,  together  with 
the  kind  sometimes  called  Dolly  Varden,  have  been  placed  in 
streams  connecting  with  the  ocean,  by  the  millions.  But  no  fisher 
man  could  ever  see  that  the  millions  added  ever  gave  them  another 
bite  next  year;  and  for  the  very  good  reason  that  down  to  the  sea, 
and  out  into  the  Pacific,  and  possibly  off  up  to  the  Chinook  hook 
of  the  Alaska  Indian,  would  go  the  spotted  pets  of  the  Commission 
ers.  Not  being  born  in  that  stream,  their  native  instinct  started 
them  out,  on  a  still  hunt  for  the  home  waters  of  that  hatchery,  and 


138  I'OKTRY  AM)  I'ROSK  SKLKCTIONS 


millions  of  them  are  probably  today  circling  the  arctic  pole,  and 
l>erhnps  trying  to  climb  it,  in  search  of  that  particular  Fish  Commis 
sioner  who  first  squeezed  their  mother  and  made  spawn  of  them. 
Thus  have  these  natural  sons  of  Mother  Partington  been  all  these 
years  trying  to  stock  the  Pacific  ocean  with  trout. 

Dr.  Jordan  decides  that  the  steel-head  salmon,  or  salmon  trout, 
as  more  popularly  known  hereabouts,  is  the  parent  fish  of  nearly 
all,  if  not  all  of  our  mountain  trout.  That  its  habitat  and  food 
control  its  size  and  color.  It  may  make  a  "rainbow"  trout  or  a 
"silver  sides."  It  may  be  no  bigger,  full  grown,  than  eight  inches, 
if  it  does  not  get  out  to  sea,  and  feed  and  grow  fat ;  or  it  can  develop 
into  the  full-fledged  salmon  trout,  of  a  score  or  more  of  pounds,  by 
doing  so.  All  these  big  things  depending  upon  little  circumstances. 
These  conclusions,  it  is  only  just  to  state,  have  been  held  as  con 
vincing  by  more  than  one  of  our  home  fisherman,  for  a  long  time. 
A  doubting  Thomas,  just  at  our  elbow,  requests  us  to  ask  Prof. 
Jordan,  how  it  is  that  the  small  brook  trout  of  a  few  inches  in  length 
have  so  far  developed  as  to  become  breeders,  when,  if  they  were  but 
undeveloped  steelheads,  their  propagating  power  should  not  appear 
at  so  early  and  immature  a  stage? 


The  Play  of  the  Faculty 


The  Freshman  class  had  a  circus  of  their  own  at  the  game  of 
baseball  between  the  Faculty  and  Seniors  of  Stanford  on  Saturday. 
Their  sympathy  was  evidently  with  the  Faculty,  but  the  expression 
of  it  was  rather  warm;  in  fact,  it  might  be  termed  hot  at  times. 
What  with  the  dinner  gong,  which  they  captured  from  the  Seniors, 
a  half  dozen  tin  cans,  toot  horns,  and  bugles,  and  their  melodious 
voices  combined,  the  racket  was  quite  enough  to  rattle  more  ex 
perienced  fielders  than  the  Faculty.  The  latter  played  well  for  the 
first  few  innings,  but  the  supply  of  wind  wouldn't  hold  out,  and  sub 
stitute  runners  were  put  on.  This  was  not  to  be  wondered  at,  for, 
when  stripped  for  the  fray,  the  Napoleonic  development  of  some  of 
the  Faculty  showed  that  their  bellows  must  be  pressed  for  working 
room.  Beside  there  was  an  evident  fear  on  their  part  that  their 
opponents  would  make  a  bull's-eye  of  the  above  projection  for  their 


RIDGWAY  GEORGE  ROWLEY  139 


swift  balls  and  thus  render  them  horse  do  come  bat.  But  they 
batted  well  when  they  did  come,  especially  the  President,  who  also 
showed  he  was  not  a  broken  pitcher. 

Altogether  the  game  was  an  interesting  one,  especially  for  the 
outsiders.  The  entire  force  of  the  University  was  in  sight,  except 
Roble  Hill,  which  was  so  hidden  by  the  array  of  parasols,  as  they 
sat  on  the  benches,  that  they  were  out  of  sight.  Much  nervousness 
was  manifested  by  the  better  halves  of  some  of  the  Faculty,  who 
watched  the  game  closely,  lest  some  unforeseen  accident  should 
happen  their  brave  spouses,  or  that  they  might  drop  their  dignity 
in  the  sand  and  not  find  it  again.  For  the  arena  was  sanded  ankle 
deep,  and  the  gait  of  the  weighty  ones,  as  they  essayed  to  run  the 
bases,  was  an  apt  reminder  of  that  of  the  sand  crab  making  for 
the  water,  with  equal  speed  from  either  front.  But  the  exercise 
was  good  and  showed  that  the  Stanford  Faculty  are  not  bench  worn 
nor  limping  men,  but  vigorous  and  active,  robust  in  body  as  well  as 
in  mind,  with  an  abiding  faith  in  the  motto,  mens  sana  in  sano  cor- 
pore;  and  that  they  believe  their  otium  cum  dignitate  can  be  en 
joyed  as  well  in  the  field  as  in  the  corridors  of  the  Quadrangle. 


I  Bid  Adieu  to  My  Government" 


The  United  States  Courts,  through  its  famous,  or  otherwise, 
Marshal  Poole,  are  engaged  in  prosecuting  the  dirty  work  of  the 
railroad  company  in  evicting  the  Mussel  Slough  settlers  from  their 
lands,  by  what  is  facetiously  called  "legal  process."  This,  more 
fully  explained,  means  that  after  poor  men  are  invited  by  the  most 
solemn  promises  of  security,  to  settle  on  otherwise  valueless  lands, 
and  by  their  sole  labor  in  introducing  water,  make  the  lands  valu 
able,  to  then  be  sued  by  a  railroad  company — which  obtained  the 
right  to  the  self-same  lands  from  the  people  themselves — for  the 
extreme  value  of  the  lands,  as  made  by  the  occupants;  failing  to 
pay  which  they  must  be  thrown  out  of  their  houses,  and  their  places 
filled  by  the  disreputable  characters  employed  by  the  railroad 
especially  for  the  purpose — desperadoes,  ex-convicts,  and  other 
vagabonds  of  society,  willing,  for  pay,  to  do  the  dirty  work  of  any 


140  1'OKTRY  AM)   I'ROSK  SKLKCTIONS 


masters.  Major  McQuiddy,  one  of  the  recently  dispossessed  set 
tlers,  left  upon  the  gate  post  of  his  premises,  the  following  expres 
sion  of  his  opinion: 

"When  courts  become  so  corrupt  that  I  have  to  surrender  my 
house  to  ex-convicts  to  satisfy  the  greed  of  a  thieving  corporation, 
then  I  bid  adieu  to  the  Government  and  take  my  chances  with  those 
who  know  nothing  of  civilization." 

The  throwing  of  these  settlers  out  of  the  homes  created  by  their 
own  hands  under  the  advice  and  promise  of  the  men  who  would 
now  ruin  them,  is  but  the  sowing  of  another  crop  of  dragon's  teeth, 
from  which  in  due  time  must  come  a  full  harvest  of  armed  men. 
As  they  sow,  so  shall  they  reap.  Though  it  be  the  whirlwind  of 
men's  wrath  and  passion,  it  must  be  reaped.  The  inevitable  is 


A  Bull  and  Bear  Fight 


The  chivalric  days  of  "Old  Spain"  are  returned  to  us  again. 
Bull  and  bear  fights  are  the  order  of  the  day.  The  Supervisors  of 
our  city,  writh  their  usual  good  taste  and  discretion,  allow  the  laws 
to  be  winked  at,  and  even  compromise  themselves  and  the  dignity 
of  the  city  by  stationing  a  police  torce,  with  the  silver  star  of  office 
upon  their  breasts,  around  a  Sanish  bull  corral.  What  next?  The 
future  is  very  uncertain!  ()  temporal  ()  mores!  Alas  pool 
'Frisco!  how  art  thou  degenerating  since  this  turn  in  the  tide  of 
democratic  fortune*.  The  wave  of  pure  democracy  which  swept  over 
us  so  suddenly  last  fall,  is  now  depositing  its  natural  sediment  of 
filth  and  corruption!  Our  sacred  days  are  now  polluted  with  the 
practice  of  barbarous  customs  and  demoralizing  scenes!  Our  days 
of  festival  or  thanksgiving  devoted  to  the  pursuits  of  the  basest 
pleasures!  The  morals  of  our  rising  generation  contaminated  by 
the  unworthy  example  of  their  more  unworthy  guardians!  In 
short,  looseness  of  principles  and  laxity  of  morals,  impurity  of  pur 
pose  and  degradation  in  carrying  these  purposes  into  execution, 
mark  a  new  era  in  the  history  of  'Frisco,  an  era  ushered  in  under 
the  auspices  and  influence  of  the  dog  star  of  Democracy. 


RIDGWAY  GEORGE  ROWLEY  141 


The  "Willows"  of  'Frisco  far  outshine  Wall  St.  of  New  York. 
"Bulls"  and  "Bears"  are  here  shown  in  all  their  native  vigor.  Our 
"stock"  market  does  not,  it  appears,  afford  sufficient  scope  for  the 
exercise  of  the  powers  of  these  terrific  beasts;  and  so  an  amphi 
theatre  is  built  at  the  "Willows"  and  the  "animiles"  turned  loose 
therein.  But  poor  bruin  gets  the  worst  of  it,  the  "bulls"  are  alto 
gether  "too  heavy."  The  "Little"  "bear"  of  Wall  St.  is  evidently 
better  adapted  to  fight  "bulls"  than  our  tame  grizzlies  are.  On  New 
Year's  day  some  five  or  six  thousand  people  were  assembled  at 
the  above-mentioned  place  to  witness,  first,  a  farce  between  some 
poor  "Greasers"  and  some  poorer  bulls.  The  latter  animals  were 
evidently  better  trained  than  the  former,  for  "un  grande  toro" 
knocked  "un  hombre,"  "muy  mala1  in  "el  estomago" ;  and  with  a 
grand  "carrajo"  his  "companeros"  rushed  to  his  assistance,  but 
whether  they  rendered  the  most  to  the  bull  or  the  man  was  more 
than  I  (eye)  could  see.  (There  is  no  implication  here  whatever 
that  your  correspondent  was  there  to  see ;  he  only  has  the  story  from 
an  eye  (/)  witness).  Our  idea  of  grizzlies  was  much  reduced  by 
the  result  of  the  bull  and  bear  fight  which  followed.  Mr.  Grizzly 
was,  practically  speaking,  nowhere,  while  Mr.  Bull  was  everywhere. 
The  bull  which  did  fight  was  a  good  sized  black  Spanish  steer;  the 
bear  which  didn't  fight  was  a  good  sized  grizzly  bear,  in  fact  a 
splendid  specimen  of  that  only  animal,  pertaining  to  California, 
which,  on  the  authority  of  "Frank"  is  exempt  from  the  deteriorating 
influence  of  "Electricity."  But  I  couldn't  see  the  point  in  this  case; 
a  finer  "battery"  applied  to  animal  life  than  was  this  black  bull's 
head  to  this  poor  grizzly's  ribs;  and  the  spectators  all  bear  witness 
in  saying,  that  the  "electric  shock"  following  was  very  demoralizing 
on  the  physical  energies  of  Mr.  Bruin.  Alas  for  theories!  Grizzly 
showed  a  decided  inclination  to  "turn  tail"  upon  the  bull.  'Tis 
true  it  was  only  a  short  tail,  but  then  that  doesn't  matter.  Old 
Adams,  and  many  other  bare  hunters,  tell  long  tales  about  grizzlies, 
but  this  bear's  tail  was  short  and  soon  told.  It  was  the  story,  told 
over  again — on  the  bull's  part,  "heads,  I  win"  — on  the  bear's  part, 
"tails,  I  lose!" 

The  conclusion  to  be  drawn  from  this  bare  tale  is  simply  this, 
and  I  wish,  Mr.  Editor,  you  would  tell  it  to  "Spiggles,"  so  that  when 
again  he  shall  assume  the  part  of  the  "bowld  mountaineer,"  and 
essay  to  "beard  the  grizzly  in  his  den,"  as  I  understand  he  has  a  great 


142  POKTRY  AM)  PROSK  SELECTIONS 


predilection  for  doing,  he  may  take  with  him  the  experience  of  "one 
who  ort  to  no,"  and  who  has  the  same  exalted  notion  of  the  prowess 
of  California  grizzlies,  as  has  the  editor  of  the  Sacramento  Union 
of  the  utility  and  valor  of  the  "California  Militia" — they  are  a 
"no-account"  sort  of  an  institution,  and  most  decidedly  "ain't  on 
it."  Ti'll  "Spiggles"  that  when  he  goes  hunting  for  bares  again,  to 
take  a  bull  for  a  saddle-ftorse,  and,  mounting  him,  to  mount  the 
mountain  top,  and  there  upon  its  wooded  crest,  with  his  maiden 
spear  at  rest,  Sancho  Panza  like,  saunter  along  in  perfect  security, 
and  in  full  confidence  that  the  first  bear  he  chances  to  meet  will  l>e 
made  meat  of  instanter  by  the  aforesaid  hull — and  that  when  camped 
at  night,  though  grizzlies  'round  him  roam,  no  need  for  fear  or 
fright,  the  bull  will  drive  them  home.  So,  in  the  morning,  as  he 
saddles  up  his  Rosinante  steed,  from  the  fullness  of  his — stomach, 
he  will  be  led  to  exclaim,  "Oh,  bully  for  the  bull!  upon  thy  bare 
back,  oh,  bull!  bear  me  back  home  with  my  bear,  and  evermore  I  will 
swear  to  iorbear  to  bear  upon  a  bear,  upon  a  bare  back  of  a  bull!" 


That  Awful  Head 


The  attempt  to  blow  up  the  New  York  millionaire  Sage,  by  an 
anarchist,  with  a  dynamite  bomb,  whereby  he  blew  himself  instead 
into  a  thousand  eternities,  has  its  philosophical  as  well  as  tragical 
side.  It  may  well  be  said  it  had  a  historical  aspect  in  one  view. 
That  was  when  the  dynamiter's  head,  hoist  by  his  own  petard,  was 
carried  in  a  basket  to  Sage's  sick  room  and  set  up  on  a  platter,  like 
John  the  Baptist's  on  the  dancing  girl's  charger,  that  it  might  be 
identified. 

The  awful  sight  of  that  grim  and  ghastly  relic  of  mortality,  a 
bloody  human  head,  lifeless,  trunkless,  with  open  eyes  staring  into 
the  face  of  that  owner  of  millions  as  he  lay  on  his  couch  of  pain, 
must  have  stirred  up  feelings  in  that  man  of  gold — though  not 
touched  by  conscience,  yet  by  the  common  tie  of  humanity — to 
question  his  inmost  soul  whether  purse-strings  are  really  as  long 
and  strong  as  heart-strings;  whether  the  severed  head  of  that  mis 
guided  being  with  its  seat  of  soul  and  spirit,  or  the  shattered  body 
scattered  in  fragments  to  the  winds  of  heaven,  with  its  pockets  for 
the  needed  gold  still  empty,  made  the  man;  and  which  was  the 
mortal  and  which  the  immortal  part?  Is  Mammon  immortal, 
while  man  is  but  mortal? 


RIDGWAY  GEORGE  ROWLEY  143 


Journal  Mites  and  Palo  Alto  Items 


—The  Record  speaks  of  a  woman  who  lost  her  mind  in  the  streets 
of  San  Jose.  That  ends  it,  no  earthly  use  to  look  for  it  now.  The 
demand  for  these  little  things  is  too  great  in  that  town  to  ever  permit 
of  its  recovery. 

— " Young  man,"  said  a  Menlo  Park  divine  the  other  Sunday, 
to  a  University  boy,  as  the  latter  was  met  carrying  a  string  of  fish 
just  caught  in  the  creek,  "is  this  your  work,  to-day?"  "Ye-yes,  sir," 
prayerfully  responded  young  Encina,  "you  see  what  they  got  for 
chasing  up  worms  on  a  Sunday." 

—Young  reporter — "The  storm  king  hurled  his  torn  and  tum 
bling  torrents  over  the  ruins  of  the  broken  and  dismembered  edi 
fice." 

Old  editor — " What's  that?  What  do  you  mean,  young  fel 
low?" 

Young  reporter — "I — er — er — the  flood  washed  away  Patrick 
McDougal's  old  soap  factory." 

— Mrs.  Senator  Stanford  has,  very  consistently  with  that  Chris 
tian  lady's  character,  placed  a  handsome  volume  of  the  Bible  in 
each  of  the  student's  rooms  at  the  University.  Now,  from  a 
practical  father's  point  of  view,  this  circumstance  suggests  a  gold 
en  opportunity  to  prove  what  the  young  sons  of  science  there 
domiciled  are,  or  will  be,  good  for,  in  the  future.  A  philosophical, 
as  well  as  practical  parent  proved  it  once  in  this  wise:  He  placed 
in  his  son's  room  a  Bible,  a  silver  dollar,  a  jack-knife  and  a  tempt 
ing  apple,  with  the  intention  that  if  he  found  the  young  scion  of  his 
house  most  interested  in  the  Bible,  he  would  make  a  minister  of 
him;  it  in  the  dollar,  a  merchant;  if  in  the  jack-knife,  a 
carpenter;  if  in  the  apple,  an  agriculturist.  He  entered  the 
room  after  a  proper  time,  to  find  the  young  man  sitting  on  the 
Bible,  with  the  dollar  in  his  pocket,  and  paring  and  eating  the  apple 
with  the  jack-knife.  Laying  his  hand  affectionately  and  encourag 
ingly  on  the  curly  locks  before  him,  he  said:  "Young  man, 
you'll  make  a  good  lawyer,"  and  ha  did.  We  opine  that  this  test 
applied  in  the  rooms  of  Encina  Hall  will  turn  out  more  than  one 
"good  lawyer." 


144  POETRY  AND  PROSE  SELECTIONS 


The  Boss  is  Dead!"  "Long  Live  the  Boss! 


The  outside  press  seems  to  think  that  San  Jose  is  the  only  boss- 
ridden  town  in  the  state;  when  the  fact  is  nearly  every  city  has  its 
gang  of  bosses  and  hoodlers. — Phoenix. 

Yes,  and  ever  will  have  as  long  as  American  politics  are  run  as 
they  now  are.  The  "Boss"  is  just  as  essential  in  the  existing  con 
formation  of  the  political  affairs  of  a  city  or  county  or  state,  as  is 
the  ruler  to  a  people,  or  a  king  to  a  kingdom.  Politics,  as  is,  cannot 
be  run  without  bosses,  and  the  bigger  the  tyrant  and  the  stronger 
the  leader  the  boss  is,  the  bigger  and  stronger  the  party  hold. 

The  people  are  not  in  the  politics  of  American  governments,  as 
yet,  by  no  means.  They  may  flatter  themselves  that  they  are,  but 
the  Bosses  and  their  followers  can  tell  them  they  know  better. 
The  People  do  the  voting,  it  is  true,  but  they  follow  their  leaders  as 
blindly,  as  sheep.  Once  in  a  while  they  get  suddenly  ashamed  of 
their  demure  and  abject  following,  and  boast  aloud:  "We  are 
the  People,"  but  the  Bosses  only  retire  a  step  or  two  to  the  rear, 
until  the  spasmodic  outburst  is  over,  and  to  the  front  they  come 
a.u.tin.  It  one  Boss  is  downed,  another  takes  his  place,  without  loss 
of  time.  Their  succession  is  as  sure  as  that  of  Princes  to  their 
thrones.  Politics  can  not  actually  be  run  successfully  without 
bosses.  The  statement  is  humiliating  to  make,  but  the  fact  behind 
the  statement  is  doubly  so,  sorrowfully  so.  The  fault  is  in  the 
people,  of  course.  They  have  got  used  to  it  now,  and  are  pleased 
to  be  led.  It  takes  off  so  much  of  the  responsibility  of  the  average 
citizen,  if  somebody  will  only  run  his  politics  for  him.  He  has  so 
much  more  time  to  attend  to  business  in.  He  is  relieved  of  all 
Ixjther  and  worry  over  public  matters.  After  all,  what  are  public 
matters  are  only  every  txxly's  business,  and  what  is  everybody's 
business  is  nobody's  business;  therefore  the  boss  picks  up  the  lines 
right  where  the  people  drop  them,  and  on  goes  the  chariot  of  free 
dom  right  merrily. 

The  Primary,  now  sanctified  and  blessed  so  supremely  by  the 
solemn  hands  of  the  law  lain  upon  it>  innocent  head,  is  not  the  sa 
cred  child  of  the  family  politic  that  devoted  believers  imagine  it  to 
be.  It  is  but  a  faint  and  false  representation,  a  delusion  and  a 
snare.  The  primary  system  in  American  politics  is  father  to  more 


RIDGWAY  GEORGE  ROWLEY  145 


political  evils  and  troubles  than  all  else  in  our  elective  policy.  The 
primary  is  the  tool  of  the  Boss.  It  was  made  for  him  and  by  him. 
As  long  as  the  primary  exists,  the  Boss  will  exist.  As  long  as  the 
Boss  lives,  the  People  will  be  dead  to  their  political  rights  and  free 
dom.  They  may  exult  in  a  moment  of  short-lived  virtuous  victory 
and  shout  as  San  Jose  now  does,  "The  Boss  is  dead";  but  on  the 
morrow's  morn,  when  exulting  cocks  of  victory  crow,  above  their 
clarion  notes  will  be  heard  a  still  louder  and  more  exulting  shout: 
"Long  live  the  Boss!"  A  new  one  is  reinstated.  The  corpse  of 
the  old  one  is  yet  warm.  "The  King  is  dead!  Long  live  the  King!" 


Church  Going 


Rev.  Geo.  H.  Smith,  on  Sunday  morning,  the  22d  ult.,  at  the 
Congregational  Church  in  this  city,  delivered  a  well  prepared  and 
eloquent  discourse  on  the  activity  and  earnestness  of  St.  Paul  in 
the  cause  of  his  great  Master,  showing  that  as  St.  Paul  viewed  sin 
and  its  results  to  mankind,  he  was  not  too  enthusiastic  or  over 
earnest  in  behalf  of  his  work. 

The  fact  seems  evident  that  notwithstanding  the  best  efforts  of 
the  pulpits  to  fill  their  churches,  there  are  altogether  too  many  va 
cant  seats  still.  Some  of  Paul's  enthusiasm  should  enter  into  the 
spirit  of  this  people  and  cause  them  to  become  church-goers.  Why 
this  indifference  and  want  of  feeling  in  the  matter?  There  are 
people  enough  in  this  town  and  immediate  vicinity  to  fill  every 
church  in  it  to  overflowing,  each  Sabbath.  Yet,  two  churches  are 
now  closed,  or  might  as  well  be,  and  the  remainder  are  not  half  at 
tended.  It  is  a  dispiriting,  thankless  task,  one  would  think,  on  the 
part  of  an  earnest,  zealous  minister,  to  see  his  best  efforts  of  so  little 
avail. 

Church-going  is  a  habit,  and  like  other  habits,  when  left  off  for 
a  time  it  becomes  much  weaker,  and  finally  disappears.  It  is  for 
the  women  of  this  community  to  break  through  this  apathy  and 
indifference  and  set  the  example  to  their  sons  and  daughters,  hus 
bands,  brothers,  and  friends,  to  attend  church  at  least  once  on  each 
Sabbath.  Let  the  work  commence  now;  let  each  one  resolve  that 
she,  at  least,  will  be  a  regular  attendant  at  church,  and  quickly 


146  I'OKTRY  AND   PROSK  SKLKCTIONS 


i  lu-  empty  pews  will  l>e  filled.  The  example  is  contagious,  and  each 
will  induce  at  least  one  other  to  attend.  Try  it,  women,  and  see 
how  your  husbands  will  soon  want  to  go  with  you!  Try  it,  girls, 
and  see  how  the  young  men  will  soon  be  there,  too!  In  fact,  to  do 
these  latter  justice,  a  large  proportion  of  the  present  church-goers 
are  the  young  people.  It  is  amongst  the  men  and  women  that  the 
trouble  seems  to  exist.  The  ease  and  lazy  comfort  of  a  Sunday  at 
home,  in  slippers  and  dressing  gown,  are  too  enticing  for  many  peo 
ple.  Break  through  your  lazy  habits,  and  go  to  church,  we  say! 
This  community  is  giving  way  to  the  dry-rot,  socially,  morally,  and 
intellectually.  Commence  on  the  first  day  of  the  week  to  work  a 
radical  cure,  and  the  disorder  is  more  than  half  abated.  Go  to 
church!  Let  the  religious  part  of  it  out  of  your  calculations,  if 
necessary,  and  if  you  want  it  so;  but  go,  on  moral  grounds;  go, 
on  social  grounds;  go,  even  on  the  lowest  of  all,  intellectual  grounds; 
but  still,  go,  and  you  will  be  happier,  better,  wiser. 


Very  Modern  Journalism 


It  is  the  universal  wish,  beyond  much  perad venture,  of  news 
paper  loving  and  reading  people,  that  the  "great  dailies"  would  get 
down  to  the  ability  of  their  readers.  By  this  is  meant  not  in  quali 
ty,  for  they  have  not  got  up  to  that,  but  in  quantity.  If  the  pub 
lishers  of  these  mammoth  sheets  of  twelve,  twenty,  forty,  even 
sixty  closely  printed  pages,  issued  day  after  day,  flatter  themselves 
that  there  is  a  single  reader  within  the  limit  of  their  circulation  who 
reads  a  moiety  of  what  is  served  up  to  them,  then  their  conceit  is 
bigger  than  the  mountain  of  their  effort.  These  newspaper  people 
evidently  think  that  other  people  have  nothing  else  to  do,  and  want 
to  do  nothing  more  than  sit  and  read  and  read  and  sit;  for  a  man 
would  certainly  fall  in  a  fit,  if  he  undertook  to  stand  and  read  the 
stuff. 

This  making  a  monthly  magazine  out  of  a  daily  newspaper  is 
not  relished  so  keenly  by  the  American  people  as  some  publishers 
t>elieve.  The  ambition  to  print  the  biggest  sheet  has  got  many  of 
the  strivers  pretty  well  out  of  their  senses.  It  is  true  that  some  of 
them  hadn't  far  to  go,  but  they  have  got  there  all  the  same.  This 


RIDGWAY  GEORGE  ROWLEY  147 


great  mass  of  indigestible,  unread  and  unreadable  printed  matter  is 
not  only  useless,  but  absolutely  hurtful.  It  lessens  the  apprecia 
tion  of  all  good  and  worthy  effort.  It  palls  the  mental  sense  of  the 
would-be  reader,  overwhelms  the  understanding,  and  one  stands 
paralyzed  by  the  magnitude  of  the  job  placed  before  him,  and  in 
despair  throws  down  the  sheet  without  having  read  a  tithe  of  what 
he  would,  were  it  but  possible  for  human  effort  to  compass  the  whole, 
or  anything  near  to  it.  It  cheapens  the  value  of  all  printed  matter, 
just  as  an  over-production  of  any  article  necessarily  lessens  the 
value  and  consideration  of  it.  The  present  situation  is  really  de 
plorable,  and  the  more  to  be  deplored  because  it  is  fast  getting 
worse. 

The  contest  for  the  largest  sheets  has  already  gone  so  far  as  to 
surpass  the  ability  of  the  publishers  themselves,  in  many  instances, 
to  fill  their  square  yards  and  almost  rods  of  white  paper  with  al 
phabetical  combinations;  so  the  result  is  a  resort  to  sketches  and 
drawings  and  pictures,  and  black  lines  and  marks  and  dots  on  a 
white  surface,  arranged  in  an  oval  form  and  facetiously  denominated 
the  profiles  of  "prominent  citizens,"  etc.  These  caricatures  of  the 
artists'  work  are  plainly  enough  merely  to  fill  up  with.  The  type 
fonts  of  the  establishment  are  exhausted,  and  even  slugs  and  leads 
and  misere  dashes  are  of  no  further  avail.  The  strife  of  contention 
has  waxed  too  hot,  and  the  lines  are  too  extended  for  any  small  con 
siderations.  Even  the  existing  times  and  age  are  too  narrow  in 
their  limit  to  furnish  food  for  these  gluttons  of  the  press.  Gigantic 
frames  and  skeletons  of  pre-historic  monsters,  in  double  and  treble 
column  porportions,  are  expanded  upon  and  drawn  out  until  some 
of  their  tails  are  many  feet  long. 

And  all  this  is  presented  to  the  reader  as  the  "morning  news." 
Why,  old  Noah  himself  disdained  to  take  these  brutes  into  the  ark 
with  him,  and  now  the  morning  searcher  after  news  must  delve 
down  amongst  their  musty  bones  for  scraps  of  intelligence.  If  it  is 
the  design  of  these  publishers  to  burlesque  the  business  of  news- 
making,  caricature  the  art  of  journalism,  make  the  legitimate  re 
porter  a  tertiary  deposit,  and  the  editor  an  entirely  unknown  quan 
tity,  with  the  noble  art  of  printing — the  art  preservative  of  all  arts — 
reduced  to  a  mere  exponent  of  a  factor  no  higher  than  that  of  an 
illustrated  comic  almanac,  then  it  may  well  be  said  their  object  is 
fully  and  fairly  accomplished. 


14S 


POKTRY   AND   I'ROSK  SKLK( TIONS 


His  Uncle, 
SIMEON  ROUSE, 

Who  built  the  first  Presbyterian  Church 

in  C'ortland,  and  didn't  get 

paid  for  it. 


RIDGWAY  GEORGE  ROWLEY  149 


Journal  Mites  and  Palo  Alto  Items 


— According  to  the  T.  &  G.,  Sheriff  G—  —must  be  the  most 
profound  linguist  in  the  land.  He  can  read  German  from  the  ashes 
of  burnt  letters.  Let  us  see  whether  he  can  read  English  as  well, 
from  the  ashes  of  his  burnt  hopes,  this  fall. 

— A  grand  and  worthy  offshoot  of  the  Stanford  educational 
system  would  be  the  founding  of  a  school  for  the  thorough  intellect 
ual  training  of  all  maimed,  crippled  and  disabled  youth  of  both 
sexes,  who  are  otherwise  debarred  from  making  a  living,  or  of  being 
of  any  use  to  themselves  or  to  the  world.  A  nobler  charity  could 
hardly  be  conceived  of,  nor  one  more  necessary,  or  that  would  be  so 
fully  appreciated  and  made  the  utmost  of  by  its  beneficiaries. 

— Some  smart  Alecks,  probably  as  drunk  as  fools,  and  as  fool 
ish  as  drunk,  stripped  the  decorations  from  the  front  of  several 
buildings  in  town  on  Monday  night.  Flags,  bunting,  streamers 
and  lanterns  were  torn  down  and  destroyed.  We  call  them  drunk 
for  charity's  sake ;  but  if  they  were  sober  and  did  the  deed  as  a  lark, 
or  a  matter  of  fun,  the  young  loafers  had  better  go  home  and  hide 
their  heads  under  their  mother's  apron  strings  until  they  get  sense 
enough  to  walk  alone.  One  apron  string  is  quite  enough  to  cover 
all  the  brains  they  have  got,  or  ever  will  have.  There  is  such  a 
thing  as  fun  and  fun,  but  such  a  trick  as  this  is  neither  fun  nor  trick; 
it  is  nothing  but  pure  unadulterated  cussedness,  inborn  and  inbred. 
Were  we  a  young  man  incapable  of  devising  more  appropriate  mat 
ter  of  fun  than  this  malicious  mischief,  we  would  enlist  in  the  regu 
lar  army,  and  getting  ourself  attached  to  the  stable  department, 
lead  government  mules  to  water,  lying  down  every  night  with  a 
prayer  upon  our  lips  that  the  morning  sun  might  shine  on  the  noble 
brute  with  sense  enough  to  kick  our  wretched  brains  all  over  that 
mule  trough,  so  that  we  could  fill  up  the  empty  hollow  with  some 
thing  decent  and  tolerable  to  civilized  society.  If  every  mule 
would  refuse  the  dirty  job,  as  it  naturally  would,  we'd  crawl  into  a 
squirrel  hole  and  smother  the  thankless  life  out  of  us  with  bisulphide 
of  carbon,  the  stinkingest  stuff  in  the  drug  shop. 


150  1'OKTRY  AM)  PKOSK  SELECTIONS 


Breaking  the  Record 


Says  a  recent  despatch  from  Chicago:  "Jas.  Charlsen  broke 
the  record  today  with  a  frightful  fall  of  nineteen  stories  from  the  top 
of  the  new  Masonic  Temple;  every  bone  in  his  body  was  broken, 
and  the  corpse  presented  a  frightful  spectacle.  The  distance  to 
the  ground  was  covered  in  three  seconds."  It  is  now  the  proper 
thing  to  time  everything  that  moves,  from  a  bob-tail  car  to  a  carrier 
pigeon.  A  man  can  be  truly  said  to  have  broken  the  record  when 
he  has  broken  every  bone  in  his  body.  He  has  broken  his  own  rec 
ord,  anyway.  Then  the  exact  time  of  his  descent  being  given  is  so 
fearfully  American  like.  Just  think  of  a  man  on  the  sidewalk  haul 
ing  out  his  patent  timer,  as  the  poor  mortal  starts  from  his  dizzy 
height,  and  when  the  body  strikes  the  pavement  with  a  "dull  and 
sickening  thud" — the  reporter  forgot  to  put  that  in — to  slap  his 
thigh  in  a  moment  of  exulting  glee  as  he  exclaims,  "just  three  sec 
onds;  by  George,  who  can  beat  that?"  To  time  a  man's  flight 
into  eternity  may  not  be  so  bad  in  the  abstract,  but  then,  as  for  our- 
self,  we  should  prefer  it  with  a  pair  of  wings  hooked  on,  after  the 
gcxxl  old  bible  way  of  getting  there. 


Aestheticism  Aestheticised 


This  from  Oakland,  nee  "Athens" : 

"On  the  steps  of  the  Hall  of  Records,  Deputy  Recorder  Chase 
sold  at  auction  the  personal  effects  of  Louisa  Hess,  the  girl  who  com 
mitted  suicide  at  Laundry  Farm  several  months  ago.  The  blood 
stained  nickel-plated  revolver  brought  $2.  A  well-worn  nickel  open 
face  watch  was  sold  for  the  same  price;  while  the  leather  hand 
satchel,  also  spattered  with  blood,  brought  $2.25.  The  looking- 
glass  into  which  the  demented  girl  gazed  as  she  placed  the  pistol  to 
her  head,  her  comb  and  brush,  shoes,  slippers,  jacket,  hat,  empty 
purse  and  other  small  things  sold  for  a  few  cents.  The  gas  nippers 
and  the  long  rubber  tubing  which  she  intended  to  have  used  to 
asphyxiate  herself,  if  she  had  found  a  suitable  room,  went  for  25 
cents.  A  silver  thimble  and  nail  cleaner  also  sold  for  25  cents." 

And  all  this  from  the  aesthetic  center  of  the  State;    from  the 


RIDGWAY  GEORGE  ROWLEY  151 


moral  and  intellectual  hub  of  the  social  wheel;  from  the  high  toned, 
fine  tuned,  over  strung,  double  grand,  the  very  precise  and  proper 
city  of  Oakland!  The  city  of  churches,  of  schools  par  excellence, 
of  young  ladies'  seminaries  of  learning  strung  up  to  the  top-notch  of 
the  gamut.  Oakland!  the  especial  home  of  the  pride  and  dignity  of 
'Frisco,  that  city  of  the  sinful,  too  vile  a  place  to  live  in  for  the 
creme-de-la-creme,  who  would  cross  the  raging  main  night  and  morn, 
to  escape  its  pollution. 

Now,  these  personal  effects  of  the  poor  dead  girl  should  be  pre 
sented,  by  the  purchasers,  to  the  city  of  refinement  across  the  bay, 
to  the  end  that  they  be  placed  in  a  glass  case,  with  a  velvet  edge 
about  it,  to  keep  contaminating  dust  away,  and  set  up  in  the  Hall 
of  Records  as  a  monumental  record  of  either  the  cupidity  or  stu 
pidity  of  Oakland's  governmental  officials.  The  coffin  of  the  dead 
one  might,  perhaps,  with  equal  good  taste,  be  disinterred  and  stood 
up  in  the  same  public  department,  with  the  valuable  belongings  of 
the  dead  on  top.  It  might  not  be  amiss  to  drop  the  upper  part  of 
the  coffin  lid,  and  then  the  "record"  is  complete,  and  no  future 
"Recorder"  could  find  fault  with  the  perfection  of  his  predecessor's 
records. 


Thanks  Giving 


This  day  comes  but  once  a  year,  queerly  enough,  for  why 
should  we  not  be  thankful  every  day?  Ah,  but  there  is  the  turkey. 
Perhaps  it  is  best  as  it  is.  It  is  certainly  better  for  the  turkeys. 
And  then  the  day  calls  for  a  summing  up  of  the  causes  for  which  we 
are,  or  ought  to  be,  thankful.  This  may  be  a  little  irksome  to  some 
of  us.  To  consider  ourself  as  under  obligation  to  others  implies 
humility,  and  to  be  humble  is  not  one  of  the  cardinal  virtues  of 
man.  So  perhaps  it  is  better  that  the  strain  of  a  confessional  de 
pendence  be  not  placed  upon  all  of  us  too  often. 

How  purely  mechanical  this  day  comes  around  to  many  men. 
The  public  proclamation  and  the  private  dinner  begins  and  ends 
all  conscientious  scruples,  Other  folk  may  do  the  thanking;  we'll 
follow,  in  our  minds,  as  a  matter  of  course,  the  open  conventionali- 


152  1'OKTRY  AM)  I'ROSK  SKI-K(TI<>\> 


ties  of  the  day — perhaps  suspend  our  routine  of  business  for  a  twen 
ty-four  hours,  but  the  observance  is  purely  superficial;  duty  has 
little  part  in  it,  conscience  none  at  all.  The  church  and  Christians 
must  do  the  leading,  Ix?  the  hosts  of  the  day;  the  masses  are  the 
guests,  and  will  follow  at  a  respectful  distance  the  empty  forms  only 
of  the  occasion. 

Is  it  then  so  true  that  we  are  all  such  a  thankless  lot?  So 
independent,  as  it  were,  of  the  Creator  and  the  created,  and  like 
the  anarchists  and  socialists  affect  to  despise  all  sources  of  authority, 
all  external  control  and  influences?  Yes,  man  is  a  supremely  sel 
fish  animal.  His  carnal  appetites  are  all  in  all  to  him,  and  as  long 
as  they  are  satisfied,  the  sources  of  their  supply  are  of  no  particular 
consequence.  He  was  born,  brought  into  the  world,  he  says,  with 
out  being  consulted.  He  is  not  responsible  for  his  coming  or  his 
going.  He  is  one  only  amongst  ten  thousand.  And  should  he, 
by  accident,  Ixicome  chief  of  that  ten  thousand,  his  vanity  cries 
out:  "I  made  myself;  I  have  no  one  to  thank  for  it  but  myself." 
Thus  he  lives  and  reasons  out  the  mysteries  of  his  existence.  His 
conscience  may  argue  with  him  at  times  on  different  lines.  Tell 
him  how  helpless  he  was  once  as  an  infant  in  his  mother's  arms; 
how  the  daily  support  of  life  had  then  to  be  furnished  him  by  others; 
how  impotent  in  his  human  weakness  to  even  perpetuate  the  life 
that  was  given  him.  Hut  in  answer,  he  will  throw  himself  back  up 
on  the  still  stubborn  independence  of  his  spirit,  and  defy  you, 
pointing  to  the  brutes  that  were  as  helpless  as  he,  and  yet  were 
nourished  and  grew  to  maturity,  thanking  neither  parent,  nor  na 
ture,  much  less  nature's  Author. 

So  to  be  a  thankful  soul,  man  must  forget  his  animal  part,  and 
rrmrinluT  only  hi>  higher  r\i>tcn<v.  lie  miiM  M-|>. irate  himself 
from  the  mere  brute  creation  and  bring  himself  within  the  realms 
of  the  intellectual  and  spiritual.  To  be  truly  thankful  involves 
more  than  a  mere  bread  and  butter  existence.  Even  a  turkey  din 
ner  with  cranberry  sauce  is  not  a  thing  to  particularly  call  forth 
thanks  from  men.  Mere  physical  existence  is  part  and  parcel  of 
the  common  lot  of  all  life.  To  live,  alone,  implies  supplied  suste 
nance  and  support.  But  the  food  for  the  spiritual,  intellectual  and 
moral  natures  of  human  beings,  is  akin  to  "angel  food,"  and  is  so 
far  above  and  beyond  the  pabulum  that  makes  but  flesh  and  blood, 


RIDGWAY  GEORGE  ROWLEY  153 


that  it  calls  from  man's  inner  being,  or  should  call  from  it,  profound 
thanks  for  its  supply,  and  that  by  it  he  was  made  and  is  reared  a 
man,  and  not  simply  a  created  thing. 

Creation  is  irresponsible  and  therefore  irresponsive  and  thank 
less  to  any  creator.  All  created  matter  obeys,  or  yields  obedience, 
only  blindly  and  through  natural  laws.  It  never  looks  up  through 
creation  to  the  Creator,  nor  through  nature  to  nature's  God.  This 
is  left  for  the  immortal  part  of  man  alone  to  do.  And  for  this  great 
gift  he  should  be  thankful;  he  cannot  be  too  truly  and  sincerely 
thankful  for  it.  Let  us  then  this  day,  set  apart  but  once  in  the 
annual  circuit  of  time,  conquer  our  innate  selfishness,  acknowledge 
humbly  our  dependence,  and  thank  the  Supreme  One,  not  merely 
that  we  are  permitted  to  live  and  have  the  wherewith  to  support 
that  life,  but  rather  that  we  were  born  with  souls,  with  spiritual 
and  intellectual  needs,  and  that  these  have  been  supplied  and  fed, 
and  that  the  life  within  us  is  a  life  immortal. 


The  Fierce  Spirit  of  Youth 


The  Berkeley  "Junior-day  Farce,"  in  which  the  Faculty  are 
criticised  freely  once  a  year,  has  been  sat  down  on  by  the  Faculty 
this  year,  as  being  derogatory  to  their  dignity.  The  Juniors  are 
much  exercised  over  the  situation.  The  Berkeley  college  paper, 
"Occident,"  is  also  in  trouble  from  having  published  charges  that 
members  of  the  Faculty  get  drunk  at  Haggerty's.  The  stream 
of  college  life,  like  true  love,  seldom  runs  smooth.  Russia  has  found 
her  most  turbulent  citizens  to  be  college  students.  America  seems 
to  find  in  the  intellectual  young  man  of  her  universities,  one  whose 
ideas  of  liberty  and  license  are  also  badly  mixed.  A  little  more 
muscular  work — nature's  balance  wheel  to  the  nervous  engine  of 
the  young — and  the  forces  of  life  will  be  expended  in  more  harmon 
ious  action  with  duty;  while  the  clashing  of  the  fierce  swords  of 
youth  against  the  shields  of  age,  instead  of  that  now  harsh  jangling 
which  makes  a  perpetual  discord,  will  then  sound  as  nature's  music 
to  go  ringing  down  through  the  avenues  of  time.  Guardians  of 
youth  are  fully  recognizing  this  elementary  principle  of  nerve  con 
trol,  and,  in  consonance  with  it,  establishing  gymnasiums  and  tennis 


154  I'OKTRY  AM)   PROSK  SKLKCTIONS 


courts,  encouraging  hall  games  and  running  matches.  The  pent- 
up  forces  of  strong  youth  must  have  a  safety  valve,  else  the  pres 
sure  explodes  the  nervous  generator  and  makes  sad  wreck  of  all 
within  reach.  The  condemnation,  and  oft  times  galling  criticism, 
of  college  athletics,  coming  from  busy  marts  of  trade,  are  unjust, 
and  are  made  without  full  consideiation.  These  are  not  time  wasted 
but  are  an  essential  part  of  the  educational  as  well  as  moral  train 
ing  of  youth.  And  by  youth  is  meant  both  sexes.  The  same  neces 
sity  exists  for  girls'  gymnasiums  and  out-door  sports  as  for  boys, 
and  this  necessity  is  at  last  being  fortunately  understood  and  prop 
erly  provided  for. 


So  Much  For  It 


The  railroad  franchise  in  this  county  was  assessed  at  $2,000  per 
mile,  making  $50,000.  The  Company  applied  to  have  it  reduced  to 
$25  for  the  whole,  on  the  ground  that  it  was  of  no  more  value  than 
the  cost  of  filing  the  incorporation  papers.  Brown  had  it  reduced 
to  $40  per  mile,  with  the  aid  of  Green  and  Lawrence — on  what 
principle  of  computation  no  man  may  ever  know,  unless  he'd  fall  into 
a  Brown  study;  then  might  heaven  help  the  poor  unfortunate,  for 
softening  of  the  brain  would  naturally  follow.  Now  that  franchise 
was  either  worth  something,  like  the  State  Board's  figures  for  it,  or 
nothing,  like  the  Company's  figures  for  it.  It  is  a  complete  sur 
prise  to  common  sense  to  find  a  man  so  Green  or  Brown  as  to  fix  such 
unmeaning  figures  as  $40  per  mile  for  a  great  railroad  franchise.  We 
do  insist  that  there  is  not  to  be  found  in  all  nature,  another  Brown 
so  green,  or  a  Green  so  Brown,  as  to  give  color  of  right  to  such  a 
Spring  Valley  dam  nonsensical  valuation  of  property  as  this.  It 
makes  one  sick  of  his  kind,  as  well  as  kind  of  sick,  to  contemplate 
such  a  complete  debauch  of  mentality,  and  such  a  base  prostitution 
of  human  intellect.  Now  give  us  Darwin!  Tell  us  we  are  descend 
ed  from  Asiatic  apes  or  African  baboons,  and  we'll  rejoice  over  the 
present  situation,  as  one  consistent  with  our  ancestry.  But  to  say 
that  such  stock  could  come,  as  Adam  came,  fresh  from  the  hands  of 
the  Almighty,  is  an  eternal  libel  on  the  Creator,  and  an  infernal 
disgrace  to  Adam's  sons. 


RIDGWAY  GEORGE  ROWLEY  155 


Journal  Mites  and  Palo  Alto  Items 


— Santa  Clara  county  is  proud  over  the  expected  publication 
of  a  county  history.  So  was  this  county  until  it  was  published, 
and  then  it  would  have  been  proud  to  have  collected  all  said  histories 
and  burnt  them.  County  Histories  are  frauds  nine  times  out  of 
ten,  and  the  tenth  time  is  only  when  the  history  is  not  published. 

—The  Castroville  Enterprise  heads  an  editorial  article:  "We 
are  Squeezed."  Now,  since  that  Editor  is  an  Editoress,  we  feel, 
being  a  bachelor  Editor,  professionally  jealous,  and  demand  as  a 
right  to  know  the  name  of  the  miserable  feller  that  is  doing  the 
squeezing.  We  feel  bound  to  offer  all  the  protection  possible,  even 
to  killing  the  miscreant. 

— Oh!  dear,  what  a  lot  of  horrid  dumps  they  must  be  over  there 
in  that  little  New  York  town.  Just  think  of  it!  It  seems  hardly 
possible,  yet  it  is  even  so  reported.  After  the  Sage  dynamite  bomb 
went  off  last  week,  a  human  leg  was  found  in  the  building,  and  all 
New  York  was  baffled  to  know  to  a  certainty  whether  it  was  a 
woman's  or  not.  The  idea!  It's  perfectly  preposterous.  In 
doubt,  indeed!  Why,  it  is  a  huge  libel  on  the  sex,  and  on  the  other 
sex,  too.  Couldn't  tell!  Pshaw!  What  nonsense!  What  duffers 
they  are  over  there,  to  be  sure.  It  makes  one  tired. 

—There  is  a  divorce  suit  pending  in  San  Benito  County, 
says  the  Advance,  of  a  man  aged  78  from  his  wife  aged  72.  They 
have  been  married  over  fifty  years.  "An  old  fool  for  a  big  fool." 
But  the  old  man  should  not  be  judged  so  harshly  of.  No  man  may 
know  how  he  has  suffered  in  that  last  fifty  years,  and  how  now, 
with  one  foot  in  the  grave,  he  wants  a  chance  to  put  the  other  in, 
in  peace  of  his  own  accord,  and  not  be  pushed  in  headlong.  These 
are  dangerous  matters  to  judge  men  of.  This  old  man  may  deserve 
great  credit.  Possibly  another  man  would  have  been  divorced 
forty-nine  years  ago.  There  is  no  telling  how  noble  a  hero  he  may 
be,  and  how  he  has  struggled  through,  hoping  death  would  relieve 
him  at  last.  But  now  that  the  three  score  and  ten  mark  is  reached 
he  has  a  right  to  wait  no  longer  for  old  death.  We  hope  he'll  get 
his  divorce  and  marry  again,  just  to  spite  the  old  woman.  Then 
she'll  live  ten  years  longer  just  to  wait  to  see  him  buried.  And  so 
there'll  be  great  joy  all  around. 


156  I'OKTRY   AM)   PKOSK  SKI.KCTIONS 


Purer  Politics 


It  is  probable  that  the  American  people  will  learn  more  of  par 
ty  principles,  and  of  the  essential  differences  between  the  political 
parties  in  the  country  during  the  coming  Presidential  campaign, 
than  ever  before.  Heretofore  there  seemed  to  all  parties  to  be  but 
one  way  to  make  a  political  party  issue,  and  that  was  to  abuse  the 
leaders,  the  nominees  of  the  opposite  party,  or  of  all  other  parties. 
Personality  was  essential  to  a  complete  success  in  this  sort  of  fight. 
Detectives  and  experts  were  put  upon  the  track  of  the  men  desired 
to  be  defeated,  and  the  history  of  their  lives  was  ransacked  from 
the  cradle,  along  up  through  their  boyhood  to  manhood,  and  on  to 
age.  Their  slightest  words  and  deeds  looking  toward  any  possible 
mortal  weakness,  were  diligently  recorded  against  them.  Perhaps 
if  these  were  not  exaggerated  and  misrepresented,  as  they  undoubt 
edly  ever  have  been,  then  there  might  be  some  good  come  from  even 
as  apparent  an  unmixed  evil  as  this,  so  that  men  in  public  life,  and 
connected  with  governmental  matters,  would  be  ever  mindful  of 
the  "great  hereafter,"  when  they  should  become  ambitious  and 
aspire  to  still  higher  things,  and  would  be  more  careful  to  keep  their 
skirts  clean,  and  their  record  as  straight  as  possible.  But  owing 
to  the  gross  exaggeration  and  falsehood  used  in  writing  up  the  his 
tories  of  political  candidates  during  campaign  time,  men  have  be 
come  to  be  hardened  and  desperate,  careless  and  indifferent  as  to 
such  records,  knowing  that  they  will  be  infinitely  falsified,  and  gross 
ly  and  unjustly  assailed,  though  they  should  be  as  pure  as  Caesar's 
wife.  Again,  all  sensitive,  nervous,  moral  men,  have  on  this  ac 
count,  shrunk  from  coming  forward  for  public  positions,  knowing 
the  result,  that  their  private  characters,  and  that  of  their  very  house 
holds,  would  l>e  ruthlessly  assailed.  Hence  American  politics  have 
degenerated,  constantly  forcing  to  the  surface  the  most  unscrupu 
lous  men,  indifferent  alike  to  good  or  evil  report  concerning  them, 
anxious  only  for  the  office  at  any  hazard  of  character  or  reputation. 
It  is  now  noticeable  that  the  best  citizens  of  the-  republic,  and  of  the 
State,  and  of  the  county,  and  of  the  municipality,  are  not,  and  nev 
er  want  to  be,  office-holders  or  seekers.  The  gauntlet  to  run  in 
getting  there  is  too  much  of  an  ordeal  to  permit  them  to  take  the 
first  step  in  the  pursuit.  Highly  hononibh  men  are  highly  sensi- 


RIDGWAY  GEORGE  ROWLEY  157 


tive,  and  the  horror  of  being  dragged  headlong  through  the  political 
slums  of  the  public  thoroughfares,  in  sight  of  the  body  of  the  people, 
tied  to  the  tail  of  some  miserable  party  horse,  is  quite  too  much  for 
such  men. 

It  is  to  be  ardently  hoped  that  the  apparently  radical  changes 
in  this  respect,  now  being  inaugurated,  will  be  lasting,  and  become 
indeed  radical.  In  no  other  way  will  political  life  become  purified, 
and  the  republic's  best  citizens  become  willing  to  take  an  active 
part  in  her  politics.  There  is  still  a  hard  fight  ahead,  however,  to 
fully  establish  this  new  order  of  things.  The  old  politicians  are  not 
in  sympathy  with  the  reform  movement.  Too  many  of  them  will, 
by  it,  be  ruled  out  altogether,  and  their  occupation  lost.  Nothing 
but  a  concerted  action  on  the  part  of  the  reform  press,  backed  by 
the  approval  of  the  masses,  which  is  now  unqualifiedly  offered  them, 
will  ever  fully  establish  this  political  millennium. 


Spring  Thoughts 


Our  inspiration  being  seriously  pinched  by  reading  an  essay  on 
"Winter  Thoughts"  appearing  in  a  late  paper  published  not  more 
than  a  thousand  miles  away — we  were  instantly  and  thereupon  im 
pelled,  by  that  unseen  hand  which  ever  prompts  genius,  to  sit  us 
down  in  the  quiet  twilight  and  give  vent  to  our  feelings.  We  had 
to  do  it  or  we  should  have  "bust."  That  "Winter  Thoughts"  got 
us  in  our  soft  place;  it  went  right  to  our  weak  spot,  and  with  a 
swelling  heart,  and  a  spirit  full  of  tears,  bubbling  o'er  with  emotion 
and  sentiment,  and  feller-feelin',  we  described  these  stanzas,  en 
titling  them: 

OWED  TO  SPRING 
By  A.  Lark 

This  is  the  time  for  thoughts  to  spring.  Now  or  never  is  our 
motto.  After  '  'Winter  Thoughts"  come  spring  thoughts,  as  natural 
ly  as  a  poodle  dog  takes  to  fleas,  or  vice  versa.  We  sit  with  our  win 
dow  close  shut,  for  fear  of  being  strangled  by  the  balmy  breeze  that 
floats  gently  o'er  our  moustache,  steals  through  our  expanded  nos 
trils,  and  thus  up  and  on  and  in  and  down,  even  to  our  very  boots. 
The  lazy  bums  sit  in  the  sweet  sunshine  holding  up  the  gratefully 


158  I'OKTRY  AM)   PROSK  SKLI-XTK  )\S 


warm  brick  walls.  The  delicious  odor  of  the  fragrant  meadows  that 
close  shut  in  our  beauteous  bay  on  every  hand,  steal  gently  o'er 
us  like  a  springtime  dream  of  fair  women  and  brave  men,  and  were 
it  not  for  the  fact  that  our  boots  were  already  full,  it  would  even 
steal  there,  too.  With  our  "blue  glass"  we  look  a  hundred  and  thir 
ty  miles  away  over  the  expanse  of  the  beautiful  bay,  and  see  the 
daisies  grow  on  the  green  hill  sides,  and  the  violets  greet  their  pan 
sy  brides,  all  glimmering  and  shimmering  under  the  glory  of  a  mad 
March  sun.  Without  turning  around  we  see  in  the  opposite  direc 
tion,  well  what  do  we  see? — why,  our  eyes  walled  in  by  lofty  moun 
tain  wralls  that  rear  their  majestic  heads  athwart  our  vision,  clad  in 
verdure  to  their  very  summit,  even  as  that  immortal  hirsute  ap 
pendage  rises  in  its  grandeur  from  the  immense  proboscis  of  "Km- 
peror  Norton"  and  darkens  his  celestial  vision.  Oh  fearful  walls! 
( )h  immense  proboscis!  To  the  north,  still  standing  still,  and  chuck 
ing  our  blue  glass  in  the  gutter,  we  see  writh  our  clear  blue  eyes  (re 
flection  from  the  aforesaid  glass)  a  smoky  horizon  lowering  like  a 
dim  dark  curtain  of  fate  shutting  out  a  bright  vision  of  future  hope, 
and  settling  like  a  pall  of  night  and  darkness  o'er  the  classic  pre 
cincts  of  Long  Bridge  and  Butchertown.  Oh  Long  Bridge!  Oh 
Butchertown!  California  skyes,  (skyc-terriers)  bend  like  a  hoop 
above  us,  or  hoop  like  a  bend  above  us,  as  if  a  coterie  of  dog-stars, 
even  the  great  Sirius,  were  smiling  down  upon  us  with  their  bright 
twinkling  eyes,  rejoicing  to  be  hung  in  the  heavens  by  the  hand  of 
Omnipotence  over  the  fair  fields  of  this  grand  old  California — while 
squirrels,  hawks,  and  hawking  owls,  fill  the  grand  expanse  of  na 
ture  with  their  merry  tuneful  warblings,  reminding  one  of  the  Hap 
py  Family  in  Barnum's  Museum,  or  any  other  man's  museum.  Oh 
Happy  Family!  Oh,  any  other  man!  We  are  filled  to  the  brim 
with  these  deep  emanations  of  an  overflowing  soul,  while  up  to  the 
top  of  our  old  felt  hat  climb  memories,  oh  sweet  memories!  of  a 
land  three  thousand  miles  away,  and  of  the  gal  we  left  behind  us. 
In  our  mind's  eye  we  think  we  see  her  even  now  gliding  swiftly  over 
the  beautiful  snow,  muffled  in  furs  and  warm  robe*,  with  a  spanking 
team  of  matchless  bays,  bob-tailed  at  that,  no  white  in  the  face, 
with  the  merry  jingle  of  the  sleigh-bells  keeping  time  to  their 
prancing  steps — while  the  sweeter  sublimer  music  of  two  loving 
hearts,  beating  as  one,  light  and  joyous  as  the  feathery  snowflakc 
that  comes  floating  so  ><>ttly  down  from  the  crystal  depths  of  an 


RIDGWAY  GEORGE  ROWLEY  159 

azure  sky  to  light  upon  the  tip  of  that  off-horse's  ear,  thence  to  be 
shaken  into  a  thousand  atoms,  while  that  miserable  "other  fellow" 
whispers  sweet  words  and  soft  nonsense  into  an  ear,  that  was  once 
only  too  willing  that  we  should  sit  upon  and  fill  with  our  melodious 
warblings.  Oh  fickle  gal!  Oh  miserable  fellow!  So  man  declares 
that  nature  supplies  to  his  joys  in  every  land  beneath  the  sun,  or  the 
moon,  or  twinkling  stars,  making  us  all  better  prepared  to  enjoy  our 
matutinal  meal,  with  soft-boiled  eggs  and  quail  on  toast  as  side- 
dishes,  thanks  to  the  productive  hens  and  feathered  tribes  of  this 
great  and  glorious  country. 

Diabolism 


On  the  14th  of  February  last,  the  T.  &G.  in  an  editorial,  said: 
"The  Watsonville  Transcript  is  now  issued  semi-weekly.  It  is  a 
lively,  spicy,  newsy,  enterprising  and  interesting  newspaper,  a  cred 
it  to  the  community  which  supports  it,  and  no  doubt  sufficiently 
remunerative  to  its  wideawake  and  accomplished  editor,  Wm.  H. 
Wheeler,  Esq."  Two  weeks  ago  the  same  paper  spoke  very  libel- 
lously  and  meanly  of  the  self-same  Transcript,  and  its  editor,  the 
self-same  gentleman.  The  only  possible  reason  for  this  change  of 
opinion  is  that  the  Transcript  has  had  the  audacity  to  speak  highly 
of  the  Journal,  recently.  This  is  quite  enough  to  excite  the  animosi 
ty  and  revenge  of  Spring  Valley's  tool.  Did  Mr.  Wheeler  but  live 
in  this  county,  he  would  now  be  made  to  feel  the  lash  of  their  re 
venge.  It  is  the  sin  unpardonable  for  any  newspaper  or  individual 
in  the  county  or  out  of  it,  to  speak  well  of  the  Journal.  Such  things 
are  watched  for  and  bitterly  resented.  Spring  Valley's  hatred  is 
of  the  hot  and  heating  kind ;  the  sort  that  they  melt  up  in  hell  and 
pour  over  devils  to  give  a  bright  and  sulphurous  glow  to  their  scales; 
but  they  had  better  save  what  they've  got  of  it,  for  they'll  wrant  it 
all  when  they  get  to  where  the  article  is  in  good  demand.  This 
Christian  land  has  no  need  of  it,  and  good  Christians,  like  their 
editor,  should  not  indulge  in  its  use,  in  this  bitter,  revengeful  way. 

Mr.  Wheeler,  in  replying  to  the  uncalled  for  attack  upon  him, 
says:  "It  pays  to  do  right,  Bro.  Cook,  but  we  are  afraid  you  will 
never  live  long  enough  to  discover  that  fact  by  experience.  The 
remainder  of  your  article  is  principally  as  false  as  the  part  we  have 
quoted.  Post  yourself  a  little  on  the  subjects  you  discuss,  Bro.  Cook, 
and  you  will  be  able  to  make  a  better  impression  on  the  public." 


160  POETRY  AM)  PROSE  SELECTIONS 


Hark!  From  the  Skies  a  Cheering  Sound ! 

Oh,  yc  valiant  sons  of  ease — you,  ye  noble  sons  of  toil! 
To  the  traders  of  the  seas — to  the  tillers  of  the  soil! 
Need  I  tell  that  ye  stand  upon  the  threshold  of  a  morn, 
Akin  in  glory  to  the  day  when  sound  of  angel's  horn 
Shall  sweep  o'er  earth,  informing  man  in  one  triumphant  tone, 
That  Gabriel  approaches,  heralding  a  greater  One. 

The  eastern  skies  in  radiance  shine,  and  all  therein  is  bright; 

The  cloud  that  hid  their  beauty  in  the  darkness  of  the  night 

Is  gone — aye,  gone  forever!  but  a  tracery  now  appears, 

Nor  care  we  for  the  oracles  of  Prophets  old  or  Seers, 

To  tell  us  of  the  future,  and  that  never,  never  more 

Its  blackening  form  shall  mar  the  skies  as  in  the  days  of  yore. 

With  Phoebus'  steeds,  in  gilded  car,  on  wheels  of  living  fire, 

There  comes  a  minstrelsy  of  Truth — now  list  ye  to  its  lyre: 

E'en  as  David  swept  the  "Harp  which  was  greater  than  his  throne,'' 

These  angel  minstrels  tuned  the  air  with  voices  all  their  own. 

As  up  the  steep  of  Heaven  they  climb,  celestial  strains  I  hear, 

So  wild,  so  deep,  they  seem  to  thrill  the  soul  as  well  as  ear. 

'Twas  thus  they  sang,  with  varied  touch  of  golden  reed  and  string- 
On,  would  such  notes  were  oftener  heard  through  heaven's  welkin 

ring! 

The  sweetness  and  the  joyousness  of  that  angelic  strain 
Could  wake  the  heavy  heart  from  grief,  and  make  it  young  again. 
Though  it  by  Sorrow  had  been  nursed  and  rocked  by  Slavery  long, 
Its  grief  would  part,  its  chains  would  burst,  at  echo  of  that  song: 

"Oh,  sacred  Truth!  'mong  sons  of  men  thy  triumph  ceased  awhile, 
And  Hope,  thy  sister,  bowed  with  grief,  ceased  with  thee  to  smile, 
When  'long  the  plains  of  earth  thou  look'st  and  saw  a  saddening 

sight; 

Weary  mortals  travelling  on  amid  a  starless  night, 
Whil'st  all  around  were  clanking  chains  upheld  by  human  hands, 
Which,  clasped  in  prayer,  besought  of  thee  to  loose  their  cruel  bands. 


RIDGWAY  GEORGE  ROWLEY  161 


"Could'st  thou,  O  daughter  of  the  skies,  behold  with  unconcern 
The  souls  of  men — the  gift  of  Heaven — in  one  sepulchral  urn 
Entombed,  and  view  the  unfathomed  darkness  of  despair  pervade 
The  dominions  of  God's  creatures,  who  in  his  own  mould  were 

made? 

No;  thou  could 'st  not;  but  thy  pure  breast  filled  with  indignation— 
Thy  tearful  eye  upturned  to  Heaven,  there  sought  the  Slave's  salvation. 

"And  thou  hast  found  it.  Glorious  Truth,  let  thine  be  all  the  praise! 
Victorious  chants  we'll  sing  to  thee,  and,  through  Time's  endless 

days, 

Garlands  of  flowers  we'll  wreathe,  as  fillets  of  a  worthy  Priest 
To  crown  thee  with,  as  once  with  thorns  foul  Error  crowned  a  Christ ; 
On  wings  of  love  we'll  waft  thee  to  Jehovah's  high  abode, 
On  bended  knee,  before  His  throne,  proclaim  thy  mission  good." 

Oh,  when  in  'midst  of  Israel's  gloom  a  fiery  pillar  rose, 

And  as  they  marched  through  desert  land,  their  pathway  clearly 

shows ! 

Oh,  when  proud  Pharaoh  bold  essayed  to  follow  through  the  waves, 
And  tide  of  waters  rolled  within  to  fill  those  warriors'  graves! 
Oh,  when  the  sun  stood  still  in  heaven  and  turn'd  red  as  blood, 
While  Freedom's  conquering  hosts  rushed  on  with  Joshua  at  their 

head! 

True  to  his  written  word  the  Mighty  God  did  rule  the  land ; 

The  destiny  of  nations  held  in  "hollow  of  his  hand." 

E'en  now  again  we  witness  "the  coming  of  the  Lord," 

Who's  "loosed  the  fateful  lightning  of  his  terrible  swift  sword." 

Let  us  march  out  to  meet  him,  and  we'll  join  that  heavenly  throng, 

Whose  banner  white,  in  words  of  gold,  has  thus  inscribed  thereon  : 

"Error  and  Slavery,  thrice  armed  in  coats  of  iron  mail, 

O'er  Truth  and  Freedom,  unarmored  and  unarmed,  can  ne'er  prevail. 

Though  the  heavens  fall,  and  all  earth  in  tears  and  ashes  wail. 

Truth  'fore  Error,  Freedom  'fore  Slavery,  must  and  shall  not  quail" 

Consistent  with  this  principle  let  us  triumphant  live, 

\Vith  offered  prayer  and  sacrifice  to  Him  who  'st  all  things  give. 


162  POKTRV  AM)  PROSE  SELECTIONS 


And  true  to  those  great  interests  entrusted  to  our  care, 

Let  us  resign  our  Present  weal  and  Future  glory  share; 

All  sordid -minded  ness  we'll  leave  with  narrow  selfish  ends, 

And  rising  far  above  our  Self  we'll  soar  where  Truth  e'er  tends. 

Her  path  is  one  of  light  in  which  a  Universe  is  seen 

To  traverse  'round  and  'round  in  faith ;  and  thus  has  't  always  been. 

What  worth  to  us  our  petty  lives,  our  fortunes,  interests  all, 
Should  this  Excelsior  Monument  of  (ilorious  Freedom  fall? 
'Tis  cemented  with  the  honor  of  our  fathers  gone  before, 
And  they  would  weep  as  angels  weep  to  know  it  was  no  more. 
Then  may  we  not  with  broken  faith — ambition's  fell  desires, 
Prove  to  be  degenerate  sons  of  far  more  worthy  sires! 

But  lifting  up  our  hearts  to  Him,  let  all  the  Nations  hear. 

Crowns  and  Dominions,  Tyrants  all,  our  Union  doth  not  fear! 

It  was  not  reared  to  be  destroyed  by  rebels'  impious  hand 

In  traitors'  wiles,  though  they  may  strive  with  many  a  venomed 

band 

To  crush  the  life  from  out  a  soul  which  moulded  into  form, 
And  breathed  into  by  Divinity,  shall  live  till  time  is  gone. 


—This  is  a  splendid  time  for  subscribers  in  arrears  with  the 
Journal  to  settle  up  and  start  anew.  The  increased  expense  at 
tached  to  the  publication  of  the  supplement  to  the  Journal,  renders 
it  necessary  that  a  little  more  coin  flow  inwards  towards  this  sanc 
tum.  We  don't  care  to  be  flooded  with  the  filthy  lucre,  not  being 
one  of  its  worshipers;  but  just  start  the  stream  flowing  this  way, 
and  see  how  grandly  we  can  stretch  up  and  keep  our  head  above  the 
flood.  We  are  sure  we  can  astonish  timid  ones  who  may  fear  to 
drown  us  in  this  way,  by  showing  a  length  of  limb  and  neck  they 
never  suspected.  Don't  fear,  we'll  not  drown.  The  other  side  of 
the  house  has  tried  hard  to  drown  us  by  holding  our  head  down  in 
its  little  shallow  dirty  pool;  but  pshaw!  they  may  as  well  try  to 
drown  a  bull-frog  in  a  mud  pond;  just  when  they  think  they've  got 
him  quiet,  a  hind  leg  will  jerk  a  little,  then  the  other,  and  the  next 
minute  the  drowned  rana  pipiens  will  jump  clear  over  the  heads  of 
the  operators,  and  squatting  safe  upon  its  amphibious  haunches, 
set  up  its  tuneful  melodious  song,  in  defiant  triumph. 


RIDGWAY  GEORGE  ROWLEY  163 

Journal  Mites  and  Palo  Alto  Items. 


—That  "nu  Editor"  very  heartily  endorsed  what  the  Journal 
said  two  weeks  ago  about  fools  of  husbands  publishing  their  wives 
they  had  driven  away  from  home,  and  then  goes  right  at  it  and  pub 
lishes  just  such  a  notice. 

-Twas  but  on  last  Saturday,  that  as  we  stood  alone  and  still, 
on  the  brow  of  Wilson's  Hill,  there  could  be  as  plainly  seen,  as  a 
bright  and  silvery  sheen,  the  lovely  bay  of  Monterey,  as  it  lay,  far 
away,  betwixt  the  empurpled  hills  of  the  Sacred  Cross,  and  the  mur 
muring  rills  that  ever  toss  their  waters  down  fair  Carmel's  slope — 
Oh!  we  forgot.  This  is  but  Mayfield's  little  newspaper.  We 
thought  it  was  the  Santa  Cruz  Sentinel.  Excuse  us. 

— Supervisor  B. — Oh  B.!  Oh  B!  why  do  you  do  so?  Remember 
the  time  when  you  swore  that  you  knew  so;  that  Spring  Valley 
ne'er  paid  its  legitimate  tax;  and  that  had  you  the  chance  you'd 
give  it  some  whacks.  Now  you've  had  your  good  time,  you've 
had  your  good  chance;  the  fiddler  is  paid,  and  yet  you  but  dance 
to  the  tune  of  Spring  Valley,  the  same  as  the  rest.  Oh,  B!  oh,  B, 
and  is  this  all  your  best?  (Elected  on  reform  ticket,  but  who  "fell 
down.") 

— A  trial  was  had  before  a  jury  in  Judge  Easton's  Court,  at 
San  Mateo,  oh  change  of  venue  from  Judge  Pringle's  Court  of 
Half  Moon  Bay,  of  William  Bunemann,  bar-tender  for  E.  Schubert, 
brewer  of  the  latter  place,  for  selling  intoxicating  drink  to  Thomas 
Johnston,  a  boy  under  16  years  of  age.  The  case  was  brought  un 
der  the  statute  of  1872,  yet  many  saloon-keepers  insist  they  never 
knew  there  was  such  a  law.  The  jury  in  the  case  disagreed,  the 
majority  however  being  for  conviction.  The  testimony  presented 
by  the  District  Attorney  was  clear  and  conclusive,  and  under  the 
law  and  the  jurors'  oath  a  conviction  should  have  been  had  without 
hesitation.  In  order  to  duly  notify  all  interested  parties  in  future 
that  there  is  such  a  law  and  that  infraction  of  it  will  be  prosecuted 
with  vigor,  conviction  or  no  conviction,  until  this  most  reprehensible 
practice,  obtaining,  as  we  understand,  altogether  too  frequently 
in  certain  places  in  the  county,  is  broken  up,  the  law  in  full  is 
given  here.  Because  a  few  men  on  a  jury  or  two  may  see  fit  to 
refuse  to  perform  their  sworn  duty,  is  no  good  reason  why  other 
officers  of  the  law  should  refuse  and  neglect  to  perform  theirs. 


164  POETRY  AM)  PROSE  SELECTIONS 

After  the  Battle,  Mother 


It  is  a  sad  disappointment  to  them,  this  no  election  business. 
It  almost  bankrupts  the  crowd ;  for  without  elections  they  are  with 
out  stock  in  trade,  so  poor,  indeed,  that  none  will  do  them  rever 
ence.  They  were  almost  certain  there  was  to  be  an  election,  for 
didn't  their  oracle  proclaim  it  aloud  some  weeks  ago,  that  there 
must  be  an  election?  The  wish  was  so  much  father  to  the  thought 
with  them,  that  a  whole  troop  of  beggarly  brats  were  born  there 
from;  and  now  that  they  should  all  die  so  young,  so  innocent,  we 
are  overcome  with  profound  pity  for  their  o'erwhelming  loss. 

You  see  the  way  of  it  was  this:  When,  about  a  month  ago, 
they  became  self-satisfied  that  there  were  to  be  county  elections 
this  fall,  by  an  anticipated  decision  of  the  Supreme  Court,  they 
pooled  their  issues  (as  they  do  do,  as  they  will  do,  sometimes,  you 
know,  when  things  get  desperate),  and  told  their  willing  henchman 
to  "pile  it  up  on  the  District  Attorney."  "Break  him  all  up!" 
"The  time  is  short,  sling  the  lies  at  him,  he'll  never  have  time  to 
answer  or  refute  them  before  the  voting  day.  Then  we'll  beat  him. 
Just  commence  now  and  publish  column  after  column  against  him; 
no  matter  what  the  subject  matter  is,  anything  to  hurt  him." 
"Tear  him  down!"  "Ruin  him!"  "Lies  will  do  it.  There  is  no 
truth  to  work  on.  Anything,  everything."  "The  bigger  the  lie 
the  better  the  canvass."  But  it  was  terrible  to  see  what  a  rout 
and  crushing  defeat  came  upon  them  when  the  election  fell  through, 
and  all  their  plot  and  plan  went  for  naught,  and  their  viceroy  from 
Egypt,  or  Africa  (as  you  will),  came  to  such  sudden,  bitter  grief  in 
his  fight,  that  now  he  lays  him  down  in  the  ditch  of  despair  and 
cries  out  pitifully  in  his  discomfiture,  "We  wish  it  distinctly  under 
stood  that  we  have  no  rivalry  with  R.  C«.  Rowley,"  etc.  "We  yield 
him  the  palm  of  superiority,"  etc. 

Well,  it's  time.  You  have  made  several  distinct  efforts  in  that 
same  direction  before.  Each  and  every  time  you  have  commenced 
the  attack,  and  we  have  but  acted  in  self-defense.  If  this  last  bat 
tle  was  a  short,  sharp,  and  decisive  one,  more  so  than  the  rest,  it 
was  only  because  your  attack  was  sharper  and  hotter,  and  called  for 
quick,  warm  work.  Now,  gentlemen,  just  let  us  alone,  and  go  on 
and  mind  your  own  business.  Do,  in  fact,  what  you  only  pretend 
to  do,  labor  for  the  best  interests  of  the  people,  and  of  the  county; 


RIDGWAY  GEORGE  ROWLEY  165 


try  and  build  up  its  material  interests;  advance  its  prosperity,  and 
add  to  that  people's  happiness.  You  have  nothing  to  gain  by  your 
persistent  abuse  and  ridicule  of  the  District  Attorney.  Nature 
never  made  one  of  you  with  brains  enough  to  either  successfully 
abuse  or  ridicule  him,  and  you'll  be  brought  to  grief  every  time  you 
undertake  it.  Just  remember  this;  and  that  it  is  not  bragging,  or 
special  cause  of  boasting  on  his  part,  either;  for  did  he  but  spend  a 
fraction  of  the  time  on  his  defenses,  that  you  do  in  studying  up 
your  diabolical  plans  of  attack,  the  battle-field  would  show  neither 
hide  nor  hair  left  of  the  brute  who  so  viciously  seeks  the  affray. 

It  is  all  very  veil  now  for  you  to  ape  the  airs  of  respectability 
and  morality,  and  to  flourish  the  dignity  of  silence  in  the  face  of  one 
you  have  egregiously  insulted ;  but  this  only  comes  after  the  severe 
lesson  of  signal  defeat.  Did  we  but  let  you  pile  up  the  agony  of  your 
infamy  upon  us  in  silence,  we  know  well,  it  is  in  you  by  nature  and 
education  to  make  that  pile  so  deep  over  us  that  our  best  friends 
would  never  be  able  to  dig  us  out  with  long-handled  shovels.  No, 
don't  think  for  a  moment  that  you  are  dealing  with  babes  or  chil 
dren.  Your  present  aspect  of  superior  dignity  is  only  a  feint  for 
you  to  retire  to  cover  under;  there  to  get  a  little  more  filthy  breath 
in  your  carcass  to  renew  the  fight  with.  Silence  is  the  part  of  wis 
dom  in  you  only  before  you  open  fire;  afterward  it  is  only  an  evi 
dence  of  the  arrant  coward  who  would  fight  and  run  away,  run  to 
fight  another  day. 

—The  modern  American  plea  of  "self  defense"  usually  inter 
posed  in  murder  cases,  is  beautifully  illustrated  by  the  following 
anecdote:  "Some  steamer  wandering  along  the  Rehoboth  beach 
last  winter,  found  a  drowned  man.  They  took  the  corpse  up,  car 
ried  it  to  Captain  Trendendick's  bar-room,  stood  it  up  at  the  corner 
of  the  bar,  and  went  out  and  told  Trendendick  a  friend  wanted  to 
treat  the  crowd.  The  crowd  drank  and  left.  To  Trendendick's 
surprise  he  could  get  neither  money  nor  answer  from  the  corpse, 
and  becoming  enraged,  struck  him.  He  fell  on  the  floor  with  a 
thud.  Becoming  scared,  he  called  on  the  man's  friends,  and  each 
solemnly  declared  the  fellow  was  dead.  Trendendick,  white  as  a 
sheet,  and  with  trembling  voice,  was  at  first  dumbfounded,  but  at 
last  he  exclaimed:  "Well,  I  did  it  in  self  defense;  he  drew  a  knife 
on  me  before  I  struck  him." 


166  POKTRY  AND  PROSE  SELECTIONS 

Journal  Mites  and  Palo  Alto  Items. 

— F.  H.  Bowen,  an  able  newspaper  writer,  committed  suicide 
recently  at  Dubuque,  Iowa,  by  holding  his  head  in  a  bucket  of 
water.  \Ye  think  we  know  an  editor  over  in  Egypt  who'll  never  kill 
himself  that  way.  He  don't  like  water  well  enough. 

—It  moves!  It  moves!  Eureka!  Eureka!  The  county  is  to 
have  a  new  Court  House  at  Redwood  City,  and  the  Board  proposes 
to  buy  at  a  moderate  price,  the  Half  Moon  Bay  and  San  Mateo  Toll 
Road.  Can  such  things  be  and  overcome  us  like  a  summer  cloud, 
without  our  special  wonder?  Well,  we  tired  them  out  on  this  hitch, 
anyway.  They  can  take  our  little  S7  now  and  put  it  in  the  Court 
House  or  the  toll-road.  It  moves!  It  moves!  Eureka!  Eureka! 

—All  that  saves  Assemblyman  Tyler  his  seat,  is  his  eye-glasses. 
After  bulldozing  the  Assembly,  until  the  members  become  so  exas 
perated,  that  they  feel  like  ordering  him  to  the  care  of  the  Sergeant- 
at-Arms,  he  will  seize  those  eye-glasses,  and  adjust  them  to  his  bel 
ligerent  nose — he  becomes  immediately  metamorphosed  from  a 
bellowing  bull,  into  a  sedate,  dignified  looking  old  gentleman,  with 
that  arch  elevation  of  the  head,  so  indicative  of  profound  sight 
through  those  glasses.  The  other  members  at  once  cool  off,  and 
so  Tyler  is  saved  from  day  to  day. 

— A  correspondent  wants  to  know  "what  is  that  'Robbers' 
Roost'  at  Sacramento?"  Ah,  my  dear  sir,  thereby  hangs  an  in 
teresting  tale!  We'll  tell  it  you  some  other  time.  In  the  interim 
we  would  simply  say  that  it  is,  or  was,  rather,  a  private  house  oppo 
site  the  State  Capitol,  handsomely  fitted  up,  and  gloriously  equip 
ped  with  French  cooks  and  negro  servants,  and  dinners  and  sup 
pers,  and  champagne  free  as  air  to  all  members  of  the  Legislature, 
influential  lobbyists,  etc.  The  "robbers"  run  the  first  floor  of  the 
mansion;  the  "roost"  is  on  the  second  floor.  Taking  both  floors 
together,  and  an  interesting  whole  was  made,  which  has  a  history 
deep  and  abiding,  and  one  of  such  unusual  character  and  incident, 
even  in  these  immoral  times  of  public  men,  that  the  public  char 
acter  of  the  "robbers'  roost"  will  cling  to  the  private  character  of 
the  men  who  occupied  it,  long  after  the  Legislature  over  which  it 
exerted  such  a  baneful  influence,  shall  have  passed  from  the  mem- 
<>ri< •-  of  men. 


RIDGWAY  GEORGE  ROWLEY  167 


Human  Nature  As  It  Is 


When,  two  or  three  years  ago,  that  philosophical  bird's-eye 
view  of  society  as  it  might  be  in  the  year  two  thousand,  under  cer 
tain  conditions,  "Looking  Backward,"  by  Bellamy,  was  published, 
its  readers,  in  the  fullness  of  their  appreciation  of  the  sublime  possi 
bilities  of  the  perfect  man,  said  a  hearty  amen  to  it.  They  not  only 
wished  that  the  millenium  there  so  graphically  pictured  out  might 
be  realized,  but  acquiesced  in  its  entire  possibility.  As  a  reader, 
one  may  well  recollect  how  this  latter  impression  was  forced  upon  the 
mind  by  the  simple  process  of  induction,  so  naturally  and  plausibly 
did  Bellamy  make  out  his  case.  The  only  reservation  made  by  many 
readers  was  in  respect  to  time.  The  year  two  thousand,  to  some 
seemed  too  far  ahead ;  to  others  as  a  competent  period  in  which  the 
wonderful  changes  might  be  wrought ;  while  to  a  third  and  more 
skeptical  but  more  practical  class,  the  thought  occurred  that 
perhaps  another  little  cipher  at  the  end  of  the  figures  would  better 
the  chances  of  fulfillment,  and  that  Bellamy's  dream  might  possibly 
materialize  in  two  thousand  years,  instead  of  the  year  two  thousand. 

But  as  one  reads  the  interesting  story  of  the  Kaweah  colony, 
formed  a  few  years  ago,  on  somewhat  of  the  Bellamy  plan,  in  the 
wilds  of  Tulare  county,  on  the  timbered  slopes  of  the  Sierras — a 
story,  too,  which  has  been  repeated  in  other  histories  of  men,  is  be^- 
ing  repeated  in  fact  every  day  in  our  own  individual  and  collective 
histories,  and  right  before  our  living  senses,  so  that  there  is  nothing 
really  new  in  it — he  can  not  but  feel  sorry  for  poor  "human  nature," 
and  say,  with  a  certain  social  writer,  "man,  and  woman,  too,  is 
better  off  without  it  than  with  it."  The  story  of  the  fall  of  Ka 
weah,  as  told  by  a  member  of  the  colony,  proves,  were  it  necessary 
it  should  be  proved,  that  what  is  commonly  called  and  known  as 
"human"  nature,  is  in  no  essential  quality  different  from  the  natuie 
of  any  other  animal.  There  is  a  general  animal  nature,  and  the 
differentiation  of  species,  though  modifying  never  overcomes  it. 

Man  is  but  a  magnificent  animal.  His  impulses  and  desires 
direct  his  means  and  ends,  and  are  given  him  by  nature  to  sustain 
himself  in  the  great  strife  for  the  survival  of  the  fittest.  Just  as 
one  animal  will  fight  another,  in  the  supreme  selfishness  of  its  hun 
ger  and  its  thirst,  to  the  death,  so  does  and  will  man.  The  re- 


168  I'OKTRY  AM)   I'ROSK  SELECTIONS 


straints  of  laws  and  of  society  may  modify  his  fight,  and  repress  its 
cruelty  and  ferocity;  but,  for  all  that,  there  still  remains  the  innate 
selfishness  of  the  original  animal,  the  desire  and  the  determination 
to  live  and  supply  that  life  with  food  in  the  easiest  manner  possible 
to  himself,  and  with  no  more  regard  for  the  wants  of  others  than  he 
is  compelled  to  have  by  the  cultivated  courtesies  and  amenities  of 
the  social  compact. 

But  free  man  from  all  these  obligations  to  his  neighbor;  take 
away  the  incentive  to  labor,  by  supplying  him  with  his  daily  bread; 
place  him  where  he  can  assert  his  superiority  over  his  fellows;  in 
short,  make  for  him  an  attempted  Bellamy's  paradise  in  a  Kaweah 
colony,  and  inevitably  the  deep-lying  instinct  of  the  original  animal 
will  assert  itself,  and  in  spite  of  centuries  of  civilization,  of  education, 
and  of  spiritual  and  moral  training,  back  he  goes  in  almost  an  instant 
of  time  to  the  base  resources  of  the  brute  within  him.  And  this 
is  "human  nature."  It  is  grandly  illustrated  in  the  history  of 
poor  Kaweah  given  in  this  issue. 


The  Conviction  of  Gray 


Clarence  Gray,  who  killed  Theodore  Glancey,  late  editor  of 
the  Santa  Barbara  Press,  has  been  found  guilty  of  murder  in  the 
second  degree,  on  his  second  trial,  which  took  place  at  Redwood 
City,  San  Mateo  county,  on  change  of  venue  from  Santa  Barbara 
Co.  The  penalty  for  this  crime  is  imprisonment  in  the  State 
Prison  for  not  less  than  ten  years,  and  presumably  for  as  much 
longer  a  time  as  the  Court  may  see  fit  to  impose.  This  verdict  will 
be  accepted  as  adequate.  The  murder  of  Glancey,  though  brutal 
and  cruel,  cannot  be  said  to  have  been  an  unprovoked  crime,  and 
therefore  it  is  doubtful  whether  any  jury  would  have  made  it  a 
hanging  matter. 

The  court-room  was  so  crowded  that  the  speakers  had  scarce 
standing  room,  while  the  hall  leading  to  the  court-room  was  also 
densely  packed.  An  exciting  scene  or  two  occurred  during  the 
arguments.  The  District  Attorney  had  the  door  leading  from  the 
court-room  to  the  Auditor's  office,  and  in  front  of  the  jury,  re-hung, 
so  as  to  swing  like  the  door  through  which  Glancey  ran  in  his  re- 


RIDGWAY  GEORGE  ROWLEY  169 


treat  from  Gray.  The  piece  of  the  door  jamb  which  the  fatal  bullet 
had  creased  as  it  went  on  its  course,  was  also  fastened  into  position 
in  the  door-frame,  so  that  the  scene  could  be  brought  effectually  to 
the  minds  of  the  jury.  This  was  used  in  a  most  impressive  man 
ner,  showing  the  way  of  Glancey's  flight,  and  the  manner  in  which 
he  was  shot  as  he  was  about  to  close  the  door  upon  his  pursuer. 
*  *  *  * 

Mr.  Rowley,  the  District  Attorney  of  San  Mateo  county,  took 
an  unwonted  interest  in  the  case.  He  is  a  young  man  possessed  of 
rare  tact  and  ability.  He  was  indefatigable  in  his  efforts  to  secure 
justice,  and  proved  himself  a  thorough,  capable  attorney,  as  well 
as  a  genial,  accomplished  gentleman. — -Santa Barbara  Press. 


Bed  and  Board 


"Whereas,  my  wife,  Alice  Cowling,  having  left  my  bed  and 
board  without  just  cause  or  provocation,  I  hereby  forbid  any  per 
sons  harboring  or  trusting  her,"  etc.,  etc.  Such  disgusting  notices 
as  this  are  far  too  frequently  seen  in  the  columns  of  what  claim  to 
be  respectable  newspapers,  newspapers  controlled  by  men  who  would 
resent  imputation  that  they  would  lend  themselves  or  their  paper 
to  unjust  or  immoral  purposes.  Yet  such  an  advertisement  as  the 
above  is  only  the  spitting  out  of  a  miserable  jealous  spite  by  a  petty 
tyrant  of  a  husband.  There  is  not  the  slightest  excuse  for  its 
publication  by  any  man,  as  it  serves  no  possible  purpose  in  law, 
either  as  a  notice  to  anybody,  or  for  the  purpose  of  exempting  the 
husband  from  paying  for  the  necessities  of  life  for  his  wife  as  long 
as  she  is  his  lawful  wife.  It  is  only  his  one-sided  view  of  the  ques 
tion  that  she  left  "my  bed  and  board  without  just  cause  or  provoca 
tion."  The  woman  that  does  such  an  act  generally  feels  fully  justi 
fied  in  doing  it,  and  has  good  cause  and  provocation  for  it.  The  very 
temper  and  spirit  shown  by  the  fact  and  act  of  such  a  mean  and 
cruel  publication  is  sufficient  evidence  that  the  husband  is  a  brute, 
and  is  not  fit  to  have  either  his  "bed"  or  his  "board"  occupied  by  a 
decent  woman.  Such  "bed  and  board"  as  he  could  offer  would  be 
more  appropriately  shared  by  a  digger  squaw,  than  by  a  respectable 
white  woman.  Such  an  indecent  advertisement  of  a  wife  by  a 


170  POKTRY  AM)   PROSK  SKLKCTlON's 


husband,  shows  nothing  but  a  bad  and  depraved  spirit,  one  that 
would  stoop  to  anything  to  gratify  its  base,  selfish  purposes.  News- 
pajK»r  publishers  should  not  lend  their  aid  to  give  air  and  light  to 
such  men's  spite  and  bad  temper;  let  them  sweat  it  out  in  silence, 
and  under  cover  of  their  own  deserted  roof,  and  when  a  thinking 
time  comes  they  may  possibly  see  what  fools  and  rascals  they  were 
to  ever  want  to  publish  a  woman,  the  mother  of  their  children,  the 
partner  of  their  life,  to  the  world  in  this  scandalous  manner. 


Possibly,  The  Ring  is  Broken? 


(A  sample  of  strenuous  Western  Journalism  fit  for  that  time  and  occa 
sion,  but  scarcely  so  tor  the  effete  east  in  piping  times  of  peace.) 

They  admit  in  so  many  words,  that  "the  ring  is  smashed,"  and 
add  "now  let  reform  begin."  Well,  we  had  fondly  trusted  and  be 
lieved  that  the  ring  in  this  county  was  smashed,  and  would  have 
continued  so  to  believe,  if  they  had  not  so  openly  avowed  it  them 
selves.  Now,  to  tell  the  truth,  we  are  in  doubt  about  the  fact,  are 
beginning  to  be  suspicious,  for  we  never  did  know  them  to  tell  the 
truth  purposely,  and  so  have  never  believed  what  they  said.  We 
shall  now  be  put  upon  the  alert  as  to  the  discovery  of  side-issues, 
and  new  editions,  and  branch  rings,  outside  of  officials,  but  with 
inside  influence.  That  avowal  of  theirs  completely  upsets  our 
former  solid  lx;lief.  We  are  again  at  sea.  We  shall  henceforth 
carefully  feel  around,  like  a  man  in  the  dark,  for  an  open  door; 
and  when  our  nose  hits  it,  we  shall  then  be  sure  that  the  ring  is  not 
altogether  dead,  yet;  but  that  it  is  hydra-headed,  and  still  lives  as 
long  as  one  head  is  left  to  it;  and  though  we  may  play  St.  George, 
and  the  Dragon  with  it,  and  suppose  it  overcome,  yet  the  first  tiling 
we  shall  know  of  its  resurrection  is,  that  it  is  spitting  fire  in  our  faces 
again,  and  hissing  and  hissing  with  that  horrid  sulphurous  smell  to 

its  breath  so  peculiar,  and  so  suggestive  of ;  but  then  we  are 

getting  away  from  the  point.  Possibly  the  ring  is  dead.  If  not, 
however,  we  promise  to  further  try  lances  with  it,  until  something 
or  somclxxly  is  dead,  stone  dead. 

Woe  be  unto  him,  who,  as  a  public  officer,  shall  now  fall  down 
and  betray  the  people!  We  care  not  who  or  what  he  is,  or  of  what 
party  or  parties.  The  people  have  reached  the  present  hopeful 


RIDGWAY  GEORGE  ROWLEY  171 


promise  in  county  affairs,  only  through  great  trial,  trouble  and  tribu 
lation.  It  has  cost  them  much  anxiety,  much  suffering,  much  toil, 
much  expenditure  of  energy,  will,  purpose  and  treasure,  to  break 
away  from  the  bonds  that  held  them  in  the  iron  bands  of  the  old 
ring,  and  the  wrath  of  a  vengeful  people  shall  quickly  be  poured  out 
on  the  head  of  that  miserable  man  or  men  who  shall  dare  to  fall 
before  them,  and  help  form  a  new  bond,  a  new  ring!  The  resist 
less  torments  of  hell  shall  be  to  such  an  one  as  a  royal  couch  of 
pleasure  in  comparison.  We  shall  make  him  wish  he  had  never 
been  born.  We  shall  hold  him  up  to  the  fiery  scorn  and  withering 
contempt  of  the  populace.  We  shall  not  only  call  upon  the  people 
to  drive  him  forth  from  their  midst,  but  we  shall,  if  necessary,  arouse 
the  violence  of  society,  that  it  may  tear  down  his  house  about  his 
ears,  and  send  him  forth  into  the  world  with  the  mark  of  Cain  upon 
his  brow.  He  shall  be  scourged  with  thorns,  lashed  with  scorpion's 
tails,  and  into  his  ears  shall  be  poured  the  hot  molten  lead  of  the 
fiercest  vituperation,  invective  and  execration,  that  our  command  of 
the  good  Queen's  English  can  possibly  produce.  We  give  fair 
warning  in  time.  There  is  a  bottled  wrath  in  waiting,  beside  which 
the  vial  poured  forth  by  the  angel  of  death,  as  it  sped  over  seas  and 
lands,  and  left  horrid  livid  corpses  behind,  in  its  desolating  track, 
shall  be  as  a  beam  of  morning  light,  fair  and  bright,  and  beauteous 
to  behold.  We  say,  beware  of  forming  new  rings  in  this  county; 
they  can  not,  they  shall  not  live. 


Certainly,  "Incorporate" 


It  is  said  that  a  number  of  students  recently  went  to  Senator 
Stanford  with  complaints  about  the  management  of  the  Dormitory, 
and  they  were  asked  if  they  hadn't  better  run  the  concern  them 
selves,  and  if  they  wished  to,  they  might  "incorporate"  for  that 
purpose. 

We  have  always  insisted  that  the  Senator  never  uses  words 
without  meaning,  and  that  some  of  them  are  so  meaning-full,  that 
they  have  to  be  studied  to  know  just  what  is  intended.  Now  in 
this  suggestion  to  the  boys  to  "incorporate"  it  will  be  found  upon 
delving  deep  into  the  verbal  lore  of  this  ordinarily  simple  phrase, 
just  how  comprehensive  and  complete  an  answer,  so  exactly  suited 


172  POKTRY  AND   PROSK  SKLKCTIONS 


to  the  occasion,  did  the  boys  get  to  their  complaint.  It  is  more 
than  probable  that  the  Stanford  students  do  not  yet  understand 
the  full  significance  of  the  little  remark  made  to  them  by  their 
friendly  counsellor,  although  they  have  had  several  days  to  think 
the  matter  over  in.  So  the  "Palo  Alto,"  true  to  its  name,  assumes 
the  responsibility  of  revealing  the  hidden  meaning  of  the  Ruler  of 
Palo  Alto  when  he  used  that  one  little  word  "incorporate." 

After  the  fashion  of  the  old-time  pulpit  we'll  divide  our  text 
into  several  heads.  These  will  be  simply  the  different  syllables  of 
the  word  itself.  To  begin  with  by  dropping  the  first  syllable  we 
have  "corporate."  Here  the  Senator  undoubtedly  intended  to  al 
lude  to  the  future  magnificent  proportions  of  the  rotund um  pro- 
fundum  of  the  young  gentlemen  themselves  after  rioting  in  their 
own  luxurious  style  of  feasting  for  a  time.  With  a  material  in 
crease  of  grub,  a  corresponding  increase  of  corporation  would  fol 
low,  as  a  matter  of  course.  In  like  manner,  as  the  boys  began  to 
Corporate"  on  the  mysteries  of  the  kitchen  range  in  baking  slap 
jacks,  they'd  naturally  "porate"  to  an  extent  that  their  tender 
young  meat  never  before  reached,  as  it  is  not  supposable  that  many 
of  them  ever  sawed  their  mother's  wood  before  breakfast,  or  after 
it,  either. 

And  now  we  have  come  step  by  step  to  the  grand  climax  of  the 
occasion,  and  one  assuredly  forethought  of  by  the  Governor  in  his 
advice;  and  that  is  that  the  time  must  soon  come  when  the  boys 
would  "orate."  And  now  it  has  come.  The  slap-jacks  are  burned, 
perspiration  bursts  from  every  pore  of  the  cooks  while  the  Beta 
Pi  club  at  the  table  is  frantic.  It  is  well  that  there  are  five  stories 
above  that  dining-room,  else  the  roof  must  rise  with  the  volume  of 
their  pent-up  vociferations.  Yes,  they'll  "orate"  at  a  "rate"  far 
swifter  than  they  ever  "ate"  boarding  house  hash  before,  or  after, 
incorporation;  while  from  the  far-off  recesses  of  Robles  Hall  comes 
in  not  uncertain  sounds,  though  half  suppressed,  a  prolonged  and 
tantalizing  tittering  of  "te-e-e-e-e."  Even  the  inverted  commas  at 
the  end  of  the  word  "incorporate"  may  now  well  be  used  to  repre 
sent  the  poor  boys  in  their  utter  desperation  standing  on  their 
heads.  And  so  may  the  broken  syllable  thereof  "rat"  be  added  to 
by  one  little  letter  and  be  made  a  thoroughly  responsible  and  final 
reply  to  the  youthful  complainants,  as  it  possibly  existed  in  the 
Governor's  mind  at  the  time,  to  wit:  "rats." 


RTDGWAY  <;EORGE  ROWLEY  173 

Journal  Mites  and  Palo  Alto  Items 


—It's  a  Salinas  man  who  found  it  out.  It's  a  secret  worth  a 
great  deal  to  many  heads  of  households.  He  found  it  out,  though, 
by  accident.  Still,  the  result  is  the  same.  He  kissed  the  hired 
girl,  and  his  wife  catching  him  at  it,  discharged  her  immediately, 
and  said  she  could  do  her  own  work,  and  she  has  done  it  ever  since. 

—He  deserves  a  royal  mention.  It  is  safe  to  say  there  is  not 
another  like  him  on  the  Coast.  He  is  a  'Frisco  poll-tax  collector, 
who  was  cleaned  out  of  a  China  wash-house  by  the  two  inmates, 
one  scalping  him  with  a  stick  of  wood,  and  the  other  hurling  a  flat- 
iron  at  him.  He  had  them  arrested,  but  upon  looking  the  matter 
up,  he  refused  to  prosecute,  stating  in  extenuation  of  the  belliger 
ent  heathen,  that  they  had  already  paid  their  poll-tax,  and  that 
he  had  no  business  to  go  in  there  to  try  to  collect  a  second  time; 
that  white  men  won't  stand  such  nonsense,  and  Chinamen  ought 
not  to  be  expected  to.  His  name  was  F.  Berne,  and  he  deserves  to 
be  made  Governor  of  the  Orient,  or  a  mandarin  in  China,  for  the  ex 
cellency  of  his  feelings. 

—Our  District  Attorney,  after  the  fatigue  and  mental  exertion 
attending  the  Gray  trial,  left  for  his  ranch,  in  the  mountains  for  a 
little  relaxation.  The  report  comes  floating  hither  from  that  di 
rection,  that  he  found  ample  scope  to  exercise  his  Nimrod  proclivi 
ties.  It  seems,  if  report  be  true,  that  of  late  young  stock  and  hogs 
have  suffered  from  the  attacks  of  a  family  of  grizzly  bears  domiciled 
in  the  vicinity.  Mr.  Rowley  concluded  to  exterminate  the  disa 
greeable  pests,  and  one  day  last  week,  Winchester  in  hand,  started 
out  into  the  woods  to  lay  in  wait  for  Bruin,  but  instead  of  capturing 
Bruin,  that  savage  beast  came  out  master  of  the  situation.  Our 
worthy  chief  R.  had  just  entered  a  dense  thicket  of  underbrush  in 
the  woods,  when  he  suddenly  came  upon  an  old  she  bear  with  two 
cubs  nearly  grown.  There  happened  to  be  a  small  sappling  at  hand 
and  the  agility  he  showed  in  reaching  a  safe  position  in  that  little 
tree,  would  have  filled  with  envy  the  finest  acrobat  or  gymnast  that 
will  perform  at  the  great  Turn-Fest  to  be  given  here  next  Sunday 
and  Monday.  (It  is  enough  to  say  that  those  three  grizzlies  have 
done  more  than  the  combined  forces  of  a  certain  clique  in  this  coun 
ty  have  been  able  to  do,  to  wit :  Run  Rowley  up  a  tree. ) 


174  POKTRY  AM)  I'ROSK  SKLKC  TIONS 


Ghouls  of  the  Press 

As  a  sample  of  the  style  of  much  of  the  news  served  up  to  a 
confiding  people  under  the  head  of  "Associated  Press  Dispatches," 
we  are  compelled  to  mention  an  item  appearing  in  a  Monday  eve 
ning  San  Francisco  paper,  and  in  many  leading  pajK'rs  on  the  fol 
lowing  morning,  purporting  to  be  the  story  of  a  young  girl's  shame 
—but  far  more  shameful  in  its  telling — telegraphed  from  Redwood 
City,  as  having  taken  place  the  evening  before.  There  is  good 
reason  to  believe  that  the  article  was  never  telegraphed  at  all  or  at 
any  time  from  Redwood  City.  It  is  hardly  possible  that  such  an 
exaggerated  liar  as  the  forwarder  of  such  a  dispatch  must  be,  could 
live  in  as  respectable  a  town  as  Redwood  City.  No  such  incident 
occurred  on  the  evening  in  question,  nor  on  any  day  or  evening  of 
that  week,  or  of  the  week  l>efore.  In  the  meantime,  there  have 
been  at  least  two  issues  of  two  home  papers,  published  at  Redwood 
City,  and  if  ever  such  a  thing  happened,  or  any  other  thing  hap- 
jxmed  worthy  of  publication,  and  from  which  any  possible  good 
could  come,  these  two  sensible  sheets  would  have  published  it. 
But  neither  of  them  published  it.  And  such  local  happenings, 
when  they  occur,  should  be  left  with  the  local  press.  Its  good  sense 
and  judgment  in  such  matters  should  command  the  respect  of  all 
outside  decent  newspapers. 

These  Vultures  of  the  Press,  these  filthy  scavengers  of  society, 
that  go  around,  seeking  even  in  cess-pools  some  wretched  morsel  of 
so-called  news,  to  serve  up  in  its  unsavory  filthiness,  are  a  disgrace 
to  the  profession,  an  abomination  to  society  and  a  positive  evil  to 
the  State.  There  is  no  good  in  them  or  their  practices.  Private 
life  is  invaded  and  sacrileged  of  its  privileges.  The  doors  of  family 
homes  are  thrown  wide  open,  that  the  winds  of  hell  may  blow 
through  them;  and  all  to  the  despicable  end  that  some  miserable, 
putrefying,  petrifying  scoundrel,  under  the  garb  of  a  "Reporter 
of  the  Press,"  may  serve  thereby  his  personal  ends  or  private  satis 
faction,  or  gratify  some  wretched  motive  of  revenge  or  spite.  The 
decent  newspapers  of  the  land  should  begin  the  work  of  weeding 
these  rascals  out.  They  have  lived  and  flourished  all  too  long  on 
other  people's  misfortunes. 


RIDGVVAY  GEORGE  ROWLEY  175 

The  Devil  and  the  Mount 


Would-be  Assessor  T.  M.  Cook  indulged  in  a  little  philosophy 
last  week  on  the  subject  of  "Revenue  and  Taxation."  The  sub 
stance  of  this  soliloquy  is  that  property  should  not  pay  taxes  in 
proportion  to  its  value,  but  that  the  property  of  the  rich  should  be 
reduced  and  made  equal  with  the  poor.  That  a  palace  filled  with 
costly  furniture,  articles  of  elegant  and  luxurious  works  of  art, 
choice  libraries  of  valuable  books,  and  all  the  other  surroundings  of 
wealth,  indoors;  with  splendid  carriages,  horses,  and  fancy  stock, 
outside,  all  of  course,  for  the  owner's  private  use  and  enjoyment; 
that  this  constitutes  a  sort  of  public  easance,  or  is  a  matter  of  so 
much  importance  to  the  people,  so  valuable  to  them — because, 
forsooth,  these  millions  "give  constant  employment  to  a  retinue  of 
gardeners,  coachmen,  hostlers  and  house  servants" — that  the  prop 
erty  should  not  be  assessed,  either  at  all,  or  just  for  a  little ;  about  on 
the  same  grade  with  the  poor  farmer  who  ties  his  horse  to  his  wagon 
with  hayropes,  and  brings,  by  his  hard  labor,  every  acre  of  his  land 
under  uses  which  adds  to  the  world's  prosperity  and  supplies,  and 
who  is  in  nowise  one  of  C's  valuable  "storehouses,"  but  is  one  of 
"Rowley's"  invaluable  producers. 

Yes,  we  distinctly  remember  the  circumstance,  although  we 
were  not  there,  of  the  Devil  taking  up  a  certain  very  good  man  on  a 
very  high  mount,  and  talking  very  nicely  and  sweetly  to  him,  but 
the  good  man  only  quietly  answered,  "Get  thee  behind  me,  Sa 
tan." 


A  New  Volume 


The  present  number  opens  the  fourth  volume  of  the  Journal, 
thus  completing  its  eighteenth  month  of  existence.  The  patronage 
and  support  of  the  paper  is  better  today  than  at  any  time  since  its 
commencement.  And  this  is  no  vain  assertion,  for  few  new  coun 
try  papers  have  met  with  as  great  success  at  the  start  as  did  the 
Journal.  The  people  of  the  county  now  fully  realize  how  great 
the  necessity  was  and  is  for  a  little  healthful  newspaper  opposition 
in  their  midst.  The  Journal  has  reduced  the  cost  of  public  print- 


176  POKTRY  AM)  PROSE  SELECTIONS 


ing  to  tax-payers  very  many  hundreds  of  dollars  per  year.  It  has 
lessened  the  cost  of  publication  of  legal  notices,  to  litigants,  more 
than  one-half.  It  has  greatly  reduced  the  price  of  commercial  and 
general  advertising.  It  has  reduced  the  price  of  a  county  paper. 
It  has  much  lessened  the  cost  of  all  job  work  to  merchants  and  citi 
zens  generally.  In  short,  it  is  an  easy  matter  to  produce  the  figures 
to  show  that  the  Journal  has  saved  the  people  generally  more  than 
ten  times  its  cost  to  them.  Therefore,  as  a  mere  business  proposi 
tion,  we  say  the  Journal  should  be  supported  and  sustained  beyond 
the  peradventure  of  a  mishap  to  it.  And  this  is  said  in  no  conceit 
of  personal  proprietorship,  or  pride  of  ownership  or  editorship,  for 
this  has  been  and  is  ever  ready  to  be  sacrificed  for  the  sake  of  having 
the  paper  well  and  permanently  established. 

It  is  gratifying  to  be  able  to  add  that  the  paper  is  now  self- 
sustaining.  This,  too,  is  saying  a  great  deal  considering  the  circum 
stances  of  .its  birth,  fortune,  and  education.  Like  Topsy,  the 
Journal  came  into  the  world  without  even  a  mother.  It  just  "kind 
of  grew,  it  did,"  by  the  force  of  circumstances,  and  out  of  the  neces 
sities  of  the  occasion.  And  when,  last  fall,  it  had  the  brazen  pre 
sumption  and  foolish  temerity  to  protest  against  the  selection  of  a 
San  Francisco  mining  sharp  as  being  an  improper  representative  of 
the  county,  forsooth,  because  the  man  was  rich  and  powerful,  the 
great  anaconda  of  the  county,  otherwise  known  as  the  "Ring" 
snake,  must  needs  wind  its  crushing  folds  about  the  little  lamb,  and 
crush  its  life  out  for  the  pretentious  sake  of  party  and  politics. 
But  then,  as  is  often  the  case,  when  a  little  power  proposes,  a  great 
er  one  disposes,  and  so  the  aforesaid  crushing  of  the  little  lamb 
didn't  succeed,  and  the  aforesaid  snake  finally  hunted  its  hole  in 
shame  of  itself  and  of  the  spirit  that  moved  it.  "There's  a  divinity 
that  shapes  our  ends,"  etc.,  and  this  lamb's  tail  is  not  an  exception 
to  the  general  rule. 


—Says  the  Santa  Barbara  Independent:  "R.  ("•.  Rowley,  Dis 
trict  Attorney  of  San  Mateo  County,  and  editor  of  the  San  Mateo 
Journal,  has  a  lively  fight  on  his  hands  over  the  Gray  trial.  He- 
strikes,  in  his  issue  of  August  18th,  straight  from  the  shoulder,  and 
talks  the  best  of  Anglo-Saxon." 


RIDGWAY  GEORGE  ROWLEY  177 

Journal  Mites  and  Palo  Alto  Items. 


—For  two  Sabbaths  the  Sunday  law  has  been  very  generally 
observed  at  most  points  in  the  county.  District  Attorney  Rowley 
desires  it  understood  that  all  who  infringe  the  statute  will  be  prompt 
ly  prosecuted. 

—The  Board  of  Supervisors  meet  on  Monday  next  to  make  the 
tax  levy  for  the  year.  The  amount  will  probably  be  about  $1.10, 
which  with  the  State  Tax,  Slickens  off,  of  65  cents,  will  make  total 
levy  of  $1.75.  The  condition  of  the  County  Fund,  at  present  is 
vastly  better  than  at  this  time  last  year.  Economy  is  having  its 
effect,  and  the  General  Fund  is  thousands  of  dollars  better  off  than 
at  the  same  time  of  year  for  some  years  past. 

— In  answer  to  a  correspondent  who  asks  "who  was  the  poet 
'Bowring'  that  Mr.  Cook  quotes  in  his  leading  article  last  week," 
we  reply,  "ask  us  something  easy,  please  do!"  If  you  should  at 
tempt  to  follow  that  fellow  through  all  the  mazy,  crazy  windings  of 
his  editorial  peregrinations,  you  will  certainly  bring  up  in  Napa  or 
Stockton.  There  is  but  one  subject  on  which  his  course  is  consist 
ent  and  clear,  and  that  is  the  county  printing.  His  head  is  as 
level  here  as  is  that  of  a  belabored,  hungry  pack-ass  cropping  succu 
lent  thistle-tops  by  the  wayside.  He  will  reach  that  long  nose  of 
his  far  out  of  the  straight  pathway  of  right  and  duty,  to  nip  the 
tempting  bait.  But  then  whack  comes  down  the  merciless  club  of 
the  Journal  over  the  poor  beast's  ribs  with  a  thud  that  makes  the 
hollow  air  reverberate.  And  the  cry,  "move  on,  oh,  ass,  move  on!" 
brings  the  sorry  jade  back  to  his  little  wits  once  more.  But  about 
that  poet  "Bowring."  We  suspect  Cook  had  in  mind,  when  he 
wrote  the  name,  the  old  Roman  custom  of  compelling  the  conquered 
to  "pass  under  the  yoke."  This  "Bow-ring"  suggests  part  of  that 
ox-yoke.  The  Ring  seems  impressed  with  the  idea  that  the  times 
are  propitious  once  more  for  the  old  Roman  Triumvirate  of  the  coun 
ty,  to  attempt  to  compel  the  people  to  pass  under  their  yoke  again. 
But  then  they  should  remember  what  Spartacus,  the  Thracian 
shepherd  did,  and  the  fate  of  the  great  first  triumvirate,  Caesar 
and  Pompey  and  Crassus.  No  more  triumvirates!  The  Plebians 
hold  the  field.  Patricians,  pause  and  consider  before  advancing 
further!  The  Rubicon  is  just  ahead! 


178  I'OKTRY  AM)  PROSK  SELECTIONS 

"Bull  Pups "  and     Fifteen  Cents" 


M  i .  ( .  -  owes  his  defeat  in  the  municipal  election  in  this  city 
Monday  last  to  the  following  editorial  in  the  Times  and  Gazette 
of  last  week:  "Let  us  elevate  the  municipality  above  the  rule  of 
the  brainless  set  who  pay  taxes  on  a  bull-pup  and  personal  property 
yielding  fifteen  cents  a  year  to  the  public  treasury." 

Now  "bull-pups"  are  not  so  easily  swallowed.  They  have  a 
wonderful  large  head  for  the  size  of  the  rest  of  tht  body,  and  this 
is  apt  to  make  it  stick  in  the  gullet  before  it  can  be  forced  down.  The 
lofty  Cook  further  continued  his  glorious  electoral  proclamation 
thuswise:  "If  we  would  see  life  and  activity  and  enterprise  and 
prosperity  in  the  town,  these  small  men  must  be  sent  to  the  rear, 
and  some  encouragement  given  to  men  of  brains,  and  energy,  and 
business  capacity,  and  go-aheaditiveness  to  take  the  lead."  The 
philosophical  objection  to  this  is  that  it  is  not  all  small  men  who 
can  own  "bull-pups."  "Bull-pups"  are  "bull-pups"  every  time; 
and  some  of  them  are  of  that  nature  that  it  takes  large  men,  and 
men  of  brains  and  energy,  etc.,  to  hold  them  in,  else  the  brutes  may 
get  away  and  do  much  mischief.  And  then  one  can't  help  asking 
the  little  foolish  question  how  many  "bull-pups"  and  "fifteen-cent 
pieces"  did  that  fellow  have  when  he  came  to  this  town;  or  for  that 
matter,  how  many  has  he  got  now?  These  are  certainly  pertinent 
questions,  if  they  are  a  little  impertinent.  No,  no,  Cook!  You  can 
bull-dose  your  innocent  readers  sometimes,  but  you  can't  "/>////- 
pup"  this  community.  "Fifteen-cent  pieces"  are  very  potent  when 
you  get  enough  of  them  together,  especially  about  election  day.  All 
the  same  with  "bull-pups."  This  little  story  covers  a  deep  moral, 
and  if  it  may  l>e  hidden  under  a  little  just  irony  and  deserved  sar 
casm,  yet  it  is  well  worth  the  time  and  trouble  of  some  people  to 
uncover  it  and  take  it  home  and  keep  it. 


— "T.  M.  Cook  is  succeeded  as  editor  of  the  San  Mateo  Times 
andGazette  by  J.  F.  Bowman.  It  is  no  easy  thing  Mr.  Cook  has  had 
of  editing  a  Spring  Valley  organ  and  pleasing  the  people  at  the  same 
time.  The  hired-man  editor  has  about  as  unenviable  a  position  as 
there  is  on  God's  foot-stool,  and  he  should  IKJ  charitably  criticised." 
—Santa  Cruz  Sentinel. 


RIDGWAY  GEORGE  ROWLEY  179 


Why  Not? 


Santa  Clara  County  raised  $210,000  on  its  bonds  for  the  pur 
pose  of  building  a  Court  House  and  Jail.  San  Mateo  County 
ought,  it  would  seem,  to  be  able  to  raise  one-fourth  part  of  that  sum 
for  the  same  purpose,  in  some  way  or  another.  We  would  suggest 
that  it  sell  the  Poor  Farm  for  a  starter  toward  the  fund.  The 
Poor  Farm  is  a  poor  farm,  and  a  poor  farm  is  a  poor  thing  for  a  poor 
county,  as  every  poor  farmer  will  say.  Let  us  sell  the  Poor  Farm 
and  build  a  Court  House.  Let  the  dead  bury  the  dead,  if  neces 
sary,  and  the  poor  keep  the  poor,  and  the  sick  tend  the  sick — but  let 
the  living  live  so  that  all  may  not  be  dead,  or  poor,  or  sick,  and  none 
left  to  keep  us  or  attend  us.  The  poor  people  want  a  Court  House 
more  than  they  want  a  lazor  or  a  lazy  house.  The  cost  of  keep 
ing  the  indigent  and  sick  of  the  county  has  been  reduced  fully  one- 
half  within  the  past  year,  and  this  can  be  again  reduced  easily 
another  half,  by  letting  out  the  keeping  by  contract.  It  should  be 
done. 


The  New  Inspiration 


The  newly  revised  testament  is  upon  us;  and  now  ye  book 
agent,  with  holy  hands  and  oily  tongue,  will  visit  each  hearthstone 
and  proclaim  aloud  to  the  sitters  there,  that  through  this  book  alone 
can  heaven  now  be  reached.  Old  bibles  will  be  sought  in  exchange 
for  the  new  ones — like  the  Yankee  clock  peddler  charging  more  boot 
than  the  new  one  is  worth,  and  throwing  the  old  one  into  the  first 
road-side  ditch.  Such  is  the  great  American  people.  They  will 
speculate  in  life,  on  death,  on  earth,  in  heaven.  May  our  souls 
all  be  saved  from  this  new  affliction  and  torment  at  the  hands  of  ye 
book  agent.  Let  us  stick  to  our  old  bibles  until  we  have  some  bet 
ter  assurance  than  is  yet  offered  us,  that  the  new  book  is  inspired  of 
God,  and  that  His  decree  and  word  are  as  changeable  as  human 
thought  or  human  tongue;  and  that  the  inspiration  of  God  is  not 
bartered  cheaply  off  for  the  constipation  of  the  classics,  or  the  per 
spiration  of  the  scholar's  brow. 


180  1'OKTRY  AM)  PROSE  SELECTIONS 

Fairs  and  Unfairs 


Referring  to  the  little  insinuation  that  this  paper  is  adverse  in 
its  criticism  of  the  "San  Mateo  and  Santa  Clara  Agricultural  Asso 
ciation"  (what  a  long  tail  our  cat  has  got)  simply  because  the  Direct 
ors  did  not  advertise  the  thing  with  us,  is  best  answered  by  saying 
that  this  management  feels  all  the  better  toward  that  management, 
for  its  kind  discrimination  in  favor  of  the  office  that  has  lots  of  cuts 
of  running  horses,  jockey-fields,  and  racing  courses,  wherewith  to 
adorn  their  admirable  "speed  programme,"  published  in  their  pro 
tege,  the  Times  and  Gazette.  The  Journal  office  has  no  such  figure 
heads  and  pretty  pictures  to  place  at  the  head  of  its  advertisements, 
and  therefore  would  have  to  go  and  socially  buy  for  the  occasion; 
and  quite  sure  it  is  that  all  there  is  left,  after  the  Directors  make  the 
usual  annual  dividend  of  the  profits  of  the  show,  to  pay  newspaper 
bills  with,  wouldn't  buy  one  three-legged  leaden  horse  with  the 
smallest  possible  nigger  boy  on  top  of  it. 

How  quickly  that  Gazette  man  knew  what  the  occasion  called 
for;  how  surely  his  ken  of  the  "eternal  fitness  of  things"  suggested 
that  what  those  Directors  wanted,  and  what  that  fair  advertisement 
wanted  to  duly  decorate  and  adorn  it,  was  a  trio  of  running  racing 
horses,  with  their  jockeys  putting  the  whip  to  them.  That's  "ex 
hibiting  horses";  that's  what  the  people's  money  is  going  for. 

How  entirely  inadequate  to  appropriately  express  the  artistic 
and  "agricultural"  emotions  of  those  Directors,  would  it  have  been 
for  thcGazette  fellow  to  have  headed  the  notice  with  a  Durham  bull, 
or  a  Jersey  cow,  or  a  Berkshire  hog,  or  a  South  Down  sheep,  or  a 
threshing  machine,  or  a  dog  churn,  or  any  other  animal  or  implement 
of  the  farm,  save  the  one  money-making,  people-drawing,  entrance- 
feeing,  bought  up  and  paid  for,  race-horse  and  horse-race. 

What  has  a  race-horse  got  to  do  with  a  farm  01  farmer?  or  what 
has  a  farm  or  a  farmer  to  do  with  a  race-horse?  They  are,  and  of 
right  ought  to  be,  as  remote  and  disconnected  as  are  the  antip 
odes.  It  is  public  money  now  that  is,  under  the  new  law,  going 
in  to  these  fairs.  And  taking  the  sample  of  them  so  far" offered  by 
the  State  Fair  and  the  Golden  Gate  Fair,  they  deserve  to  be 
condemned,  and  the  law  which  taxes  everybody  to  support  them, 
repealed,  so  that  they  can  IK?  supported  only  by  those  who  are  in 
terested  in  them,  and  who  run  them  to  make  money  out  of  them. 


RIDGWAY  GEORGE  ROWLEY  181 


Only  this  and  nothing  more,  is  the  fundamental  principle  underly 
ing  our  opposition  to  these  legalized  prostitutes,  facetiously  called 
"agricultural  exhibitions";  such  as  the  San  Jose  fair  is  advertised 
to  be — a  six-day's  horse-race,  and  not  a  thing  else. 


Brass  Mounted 


On  Saturday  last  at  2  p.  m.,  there  came  flying  into  town,  at 
express  speed,  a  special  train  from  the  north,  consisting  of  a  splendid 
brass  mounted  engine,  with  tender,  and  one  coach.  It  was  a 
"special"  conveying  the  attorney  of  the  Southern  Pacific  Railroad, 
with  two  witnesses — the  Auditor  and  Chief  Engineer  of  the  road 
to  the  Board  of  Equalization  of  this  county,  to  apply  for  a  reduction 
of  assessment  of  the  property  of  the  road  from  $414,150,  as  fixed 
by  the  State  Board,  to  $246,005,  being  a  reduction  asked  for  of  65 
per  cent.  As  the  royal  travelers  halted  their  magnificent  equipage 
in  front  of  the  depot,  with  the  American  flag  flying  proudly  over 
the  bull-catcher,  and  the  American  people  lying  supinely  under  it, 
with  the  rolling  wheels  of  this  juggernaut  passing  over  their  bodies, 
the  brazen  metal  of  the  engine  gleamed  and  glittered  under  the 
noon-day  sun,  almost  as  conspicuously  as  the  cheek  of  its  owners. 
They  presume  to  tell  us,  and  to  have  us  believe  it,  that  the  "full 
cash  value"  of  the  25  miles  of  their  road  passing  through  this 
county,  with  its  proportion  of  rolling  stock,  etc.,  is  worth  but  $246,- 
005.  The  $5  is  probably  put  on  to  make  the  figures  odd  instead  of 
even;  being  even  it  was  thought  they  might  challenge  attention; 
but  being  so  very  odd  it  may  rightfully  be  said  that  they  attract  a 
great  deal  more  attention.  On  the  company's  basis  of  valuation 
the  road  from  San  Francisco  to  San  Jose  is  worth  something  less 
than  $500,000,  including  engines,  cars,  etc.  It  is  quite  safe  to  say 
that  the  road  is  worth  $2,500,000,  and  when  it  is  assessed  by  the 
State  Board  at  the  total  valuation  of  $828,300,  or  $414,150  for  the 
one-half  in  this  county,  it  is  not  assessed  too  high,  and  should  not 
be  reduced.  But  then  what  matters  it  to  the  anaconda  of  the 
coast,  whether  assessed  high  01  low,  as  long  as  they  don't  intend  to 
pay  any  taxes  at  all?  Let  them  pay  their  last  year's  taxes  before 
they  come  around  seeking  to  reduce  this  year's.  They  have  more 
brass  in  their  cheek  than  shines  on  the  backs  of  their  iron  horses. 


182  I'OKTRY  AM)   PROSK  SELECTIONS 


Journal  Mites  and  Palo  Alto  Items. 


-The  new  dodge  of  the  Gazette,  by  its  "campaign  issue,"  to 
maintain  its  position  in  order  to  hatch  out  political  chicks  in  the 
county  this  fall,  to  order  of  its  owners,  reminds  us  of  the  Egyptian 
way  of  hatching.  It  is  simply  to  fill  a  barrel  with  eggs,  head  it  up 
and  set  an  old  hen  on  the  bung.  The  chickens  are  supposed  to 
come  out  of  the  faucet  in  due  time.  It  is  only  a  question,  whether 
in  the  interval  the  old  hen  won't  become  so  lousy  as  to  be  compelled 
to  desert  the  nest  to  save  herself  from  dying.  We  are  satisfied  she 
will  in  this  instance.  Poor  old  hen,  what  a  terrible  waste  of  eggs  is 
here! 

— Santa  Cruz  has  been  terribly  shocked  and  convulsed  of  late, 
by  an  ignominious  failure  of  the  law,  through  the  circumvention  of  a 
jury,  to  get  rid  of — of — of  a  certain  house  situated  too  centrally 
and  publicly  for  high-toned  virtue  to  submit  to.  The  newspapers 
agree,  sotto  voce,  that  "if  the  house  was  only  farther  out,"  or  "off 
the  most  public  street  in  town,"  or  "if  the  inmates  had  but  kept 
more  retired,  and  not  paraded  on  the  best  side  of  the  street  right 
in  the  middle  of  the  afternoon,"  they  would  not  have  been  molest 
ed.  Just  so!  there  is  nothing  so  nice  as  public  morals,  except  it  is 
private  virtue.  It  was  a  little  boy  who  was  playing  marbles  in  the 
stret  t  on  Sunday,  when  his  much  offended  mamma  addressed  him 
thuswise:  "Charles,  you  must  not  play  marbles  in  the  street  on 
Sunday!  Go  in  the  back  yard  if  you  want  to  play."  "But,  ma," 
says  the  little  gamin,  "ain't  it  Sunday  in  the  back  yard,  too?" 
Moral:  Some  people  hate  sin  only  because  it  is  in  their  way,  in 
sight,  obnoxious  to  their  presence.  They  do  not  hate  it  because  it 
is  sin,  nor  because  of  its  infamy.  Just  put  it  out  of  their  immediate 
sight,  so  that  their  august  presences  are  not  contaminated  by  it, 
and  little  do  they  care  about  sin  in  the  abstract,  or  who  else  it  may 
contaminate.  The  churches,  as  well  as  the  laity,  are  full  of  these 
holy-horror  hypocrites.  Oh,  yes!  just  put  sin  back  in  the  by-ways, 
and  out  of  the  high-ways,  and  there  let  it  fester  and  rot,  and  stink, 
to  high  heaven,  as  long  as  our  fine  noses  are  not  smelling  it!  And 
this,  forsooth,  is  public  virtue!  What  can  be  expected  of  private 
morals,  with  such  deformity  and  hypocrisy  amongst  the  leaders  of 
the  people? 


RIDGWAY  GEORGE  ROWLEY  183 

Private  Agents  Wanted 


The  times  are  evidently  reeking  with  corruption.  It  comes  to 
us  from  public  and  private  sources.  It  is  heaped  up  in  places  in 
such  monstrous  piles,  as  from  its  very  enormity  to  dull  public 
apprehension,  and  soothe  the  doubting  mind  with  the  solecism 
"well,  it  is  universal,  it  cannot  be  helped."  But  it  must  be  helped 
else  this  people  must  lose  not  only  their  honor  but  their  liberty. 
The  foundations  of  society  are  being  upheaved  by  this  collossal 
wave  of  corruption.  It  is  evidenced  everywhere  over  the  land. 
From  city  and  town  and  hamlet,  the  dishonesty  of  men  is  pro 
claimed.  By  wire  and  rail  comes  the  sorry  news  of  the  disgrace  of 
a  man  or  a  city,  or  of  a  state  or  government.  The  stench  of  San 
Jose  is  close  to  our  nostrils,  while  now  farther  off  comes  word  of 
the  culmination  of  the  great  strife  amongst  the  lot  owners  of  San 
Francisco,  to  defraud  Uncle  Sam  out  of  hundreds  of  thousands  by 
the  sale  of  a  postoffice  site.  This  disgraceful  and  unseemly  con 
test  has  been  waged  unrelentingly  for  many  months.  The  Govern 
ment  authorities  have  been  solicited  and  pestered  and  abused  until 
in  a  fit  of  seeming  desperation  the  matter  is  ended  by  what  may  be 
termed  a  public  suicide. 

The  San  Francisco  Postoffice  site  has  been  finally  located  by 
the  purchase  of  a  lot  on  the  corner  of  Mission  and  Seventh  streets 
for  the  sum  of  $1,040,000  a  property  that  stands  assessed  for  $189,- 
295.  The  frontage  is  350  feet,  which  would  make  $3,000  a  foot 
purchase  price,  more  than  a  Market  street  price  for  property  on  as 
poor  a  street  as  Mission.  Of  course  there  is  jobbery  in  this  busi 
ness.  The  Government  is  not  to  blame,  either,  under  the  circum 
stances;  every  piece  of  property  selected  for  the  site  thereof  has 
been  valued  at  from  three  to  four  times  its  true  value  by  owners  as 
soon  as  the  desire  to  purchase  was  made  manifest.  Schemes  and 
combinations  of  the  different  site  owners  were  made  with  a  view  of 
forcing  the  Government  to  pay  large  tribute  to  their  unholy  greed, 
and  now  the  result  is  that  the  most  desirable  sites  for  a  Postoffice 
had  to  be  passed  over,  and  a  fourth-class  position  bought  for  more 
than  a  first  class-price.  A  good  round  market  price  for  the  proper 
ty  sought  is  placed  at  $400,000.  So  Uncle  Sam  is  bled  to  the  tune 
of  $600,000  in  one  little  job. 

Now  as  these  jobs  are  duplicated  all  over  the  country,  the  mil- 


184  POKTRY  AM)   I'ROSK  SKLKCTIONS 


lions  to  be  saved  ought  by  this  time  to  suggest  to  the  sagacious 
officials,  that  a  private  manner  of  doing  public  business  would  l>r  a 
great  improvement.  No  millionaire  would  dare  to  announce  be 
forehand,  that  he  wanted  to  purchase  a  certain  piece  of  property 
and  was  going  to  have  it.  He  would  employ  a  private  agent  to 
quietly  get  in  and  buy  the  property  before  the  owner  knew  who 
wanted  it  or  what  it  was  wanted  for.  Such  men  too  well  know  how 
they  would  have  to  pay  for  their  boldness  by  sallying  out  with 
heralds  to  publicly  announce  their  intentions  before  hand.  I'ncle 
Sam  should  take  the  lesson  in  hand;  find  out  just  what  he  wants, 
and  where  his  wants  can  be  best  satisfied  for  the  public  good ;  se 
cure  the  property  through  private  agency,  and  then  announce  just 
what  he  has  done.  Better  sites  and  far  better  prices  can  thus  be 
obtained.  It  is  costly  folly  for  any  government  to  place  itself  at 
the  mercy  of  its  individual  subjects.  They  have  no  mercy.  A 
Government  whether  it  be  a  Nation,  a  State,  a  County,  or  a  City, 
is  considered  as  a  proper  goose  to  be  plucked  by  whosoever  can 
pull  a  feather.  And  now  this  truly  American  art  is  so  re-fined  that 
feathers  will  not  satisfy  the  greed  of  the  pluckers,  they  must  singe 
the  hair  off. 

—That  reprimand  the  T.  &  G.  gave  The  Spring  Valley  Co.  for 
their  refusal  to  do  what  the  law  required  them  in  re-districting  the 
county,  reminds  us  of  a  little  story,  illustrating  that  editor's  con 
nection  with  the  matter;  it  is: 

True  to  the  Old  Man 

"Look  here,  Matilda,"  said  a  Galveston  lady  to  the  colored 
cook,  "you  sleep  right  close  to  the  chicken-house,  and  you  must 
have  heard  those  thieves  stealing  the  chickens." 

"Yes,  ma'am,  I  heerd  de  chickens  holler,  and  heerd  de  woices 
ob  de  men." 

"Why  didn't  you  go  out,  then?" 

"'Case,  ma'am  (bursting  into  tears),  'case,  ma'am,  I  knowed 
my  ole  fadder  was  out  dar,  and  I  wouldn't  hab  him  know  I'se 
los*  confidence  in  him  foah  all  de  chickens  in  de  world.  If  I  had  gone 
out  dar  and  cotched  him,  it  would  hab  broke  his  ole  heart,  and  he 
would  hab  made  me  tote  de  chickens  home  foah  him,  besides.  He 
done  tole  me  de  day  before,  dat  he's  gwine  to  pull  dem  chickens  dat 
night." 


RIDGWAY  GEORGE  ROWLEY  185 


"Uriah  Keep" 


This  is  one  of  Dickens'  most  detestable  creations.  The  char 
acter  occurs,  you  will  remember,  in  "David  Copperfield."  Uriah 
Heep,  under  the  garb  of  the  most  abject  humility,  concealed  a  dia 
bolical  hatred  and  malignity.  "I  am  well  aware,"  quoth  he,  "that 
I  am  the  umblest  person  going,  let  the  other  be  who  he  may.  My 
mother  is  likewise  a  very  umble  person;  we  live  in  a  very  humble 
abode,  Master  Copperfield,  but  we  have  much  to  be  thankful  for. 
My  father's  former  calling  was  umble,  he  was  a  sexton."  It  is 
such  characters,  that,  when  out  of  the  presence  of  a  man,  can  assail 
him  with  shafts  of  most  malignant  touch,  and  deny  him  the  com 
monest  respect  of  humanity;  but  on  the  very  morrow,  let  the  self 
same  man  appear,  and  Uriah  will  bow  in  such  humble  meekness  as 
that  his  forehead  shall  touch  the  very  stones  at  his  feet.  He  will, 
in  a  moment's  time,  become  transformed  from  a  base  slanderer  and 
a  petty  dishonorer  of  man,  and  name,  and  title,  to  a  fawning  syco 
phant,  who,  with  bended  knee,  would  stoop  and  brush  the  dust  off 
his  better's  shoes — or,  draw  near,  and  with  low  bow  and  cringing 
form,  like  an  Oriental  eunuch  waving  a  peacock's  tail  over  the  per 
son  of  his  mistress,  volunteer  to  hold  a  lady's  parasol  over  the  head 
of  a  man  whom  he  hates,  to  shield  it  from  the  rays  of  a  cool  September 
sun.  Oh,  Uriah!  Uriah!  there  are  a  keep  more  honest  men  than 
you  in  the  world.  If  your  father  was  a  sexton,  he  missed  his  best 
job  when  he  failed  to  bury  you,  with  your  hypocrisy  and  cant,  and 
deceit,  in  one  deep  grave,  and  in  one  common  coffin : 

Said  the  editor  of  the  7\  and  G.  Friday  last:  "Ladies  and 
Gentlemen  of  Redwood  City:  I  have  the  distinguished  and  exalt 
ed  honor  of  holding  a  parasol  over  the  much  honored  head  of  'His 
excellency,'  the  President  of  the  United  States."  Said  Rutherford 
B.  Hayes:  "My  dear  sir,  you  will  please  excuse  me,  there  is  no 
necessity  for  this,  whatever;  in  fact,  it  annoys  me.  The  sun  and  I 
are  old  acquaintances,  we  have  known  each  other  a  long  time ;  please 
remove  the  parasol."  Exit,  crest-fallen  Cook. 


— Petaluma  has  a  cow  with  30  horns.  The  horns  are  distribut 
ed  along  the  backbone  toward  the  tail. — Exchange. 

We  know  of  still  more  wonderful  animals  in  this  vicinity  who 
have  that  number  of  horns,  renewed  daily,  with  a  like  distribution. 


186  POKTRY  AND  PROSK  SELECTIONS 

Journal  Mites  and  Palo  Alto  Items. 


—It  is  here  quietly  suggested,  that  Sunday  evening  is  not  a 
fitting  time  to  indulge  in  noisy  break-downs  and  Ixjisterous  singing 
in  saloons,  within  an  incorporated  town  having  a  Town  Marshal, 
active  and  energetic  enough,  at  times,  if  need  be,  to  arrest  the  fur 
ther  progress  of  a  wood-tick  up  a  mule's  ear. 

—We  are  in  receipt  of  the  Voz  Portugueza,  a  new  paper  in  the 
Portuguese  language,  published  in  San  Francisco.  It  contains  a 
most  delightful  miscellany  of  general  news  and  reading  matter, 
and  has  very  able  editorials.  A  passage  in  one  particularly  chal 
lenged  our  admiration,  it  so  suited  the  case  of  Cook  and  his  con 
freres.  It  reads  as  follows:  "O  ministerio,  que  depois  de  um  for 
nada  escandalosa,  immoralissima,  e,  na  quasi  totalidade,  deshonrosa 
para  as  institulcoes  constitucionaes,  nao  pode  fazer  passar  na  cam- 
ara  dos  pares,  senao  os  projectos  que  fizeram  aranjo."  \Ve  would 
quote  more  of  it,  but  fear  a  few  of  our  readers  might  not  understand 

the  application.  The  "O  ministerio"  of  course,  means  Senator  B , 

and  the  "fizeram  arranjo"  means  thcGazette.     We  don't  know  what 
the  mischief  the  rest  of  it  means. 

—Young  Stanton's  body,  as  it  lay  in  Undertaker  Crowe's 
room  on  Tuesday  night,  for  the  purpose  of  examination,  disclosing 
a  finely-moulded  youthful  form,  with  the  ghastly  wound  in  his  side 
through  which  the  poor  boy's  life  had  passed  out  to  a  dread  eter 
nity,  with  a  face  showing  mere  boyhood,  and  as  calm  and  life-like 
in  its  expression  as  if  in  deep  sleep  only,  his  head  resting  on  its 
black  curly  locks,  made  a  picture  which  we  could  only  wish,  as  we 
viewed  it,  that  every  boy  in  the  land  might  gaze  at.  No  other 
lesson  or  precept,  counsel  or  advice,  could  make  so  deep  and  solemn 
an  impression  on  a  young  man's  mind,  warning  him  of  the  terribli 
end  that  vice  and  dissipation  inevitably  lead  to,  sooner  or  later, 
as  would  the  mutilated  body  of  that  poor,  misguided  youth,  so 
early  fallen  into  a  dishonorable  grave.  Could  his  slayer  have  seen 
him  lying  there  cold,  a  boy  of  but  nineteen  years,  fair  to  look  upon, 
even  in  the  cold  embrace  of  a  hideous  death,  it  would  seem  that  the 
stirred  up  conscience  and  mental  tortures  of  a  guilty  soul  would 
be  more  terrible  to  him,  than  even  the  fear  of  an  approaching  gal 
lows. 


RIDGWAY  GEORGE  ROWLEY  187 


Death  of  Judge  Daingerfield 


We  give  elsewhere  the  memorial  resolutions  of  the  San  Fran 
cisco  Bar,  touching  the  sudden  and  melancholic,  and  almost  tragic 
death,  of  William  P.  Daingerfield.  The  circumstances  of  his  death 
are  there  sufficiently  related,  as  well  as  the  eventful  mutations  of  his 
life.  He  died  as  he  had  often  expressed  a  wish  to  die,  quietly  and 
quickly.  He  died  as  a  hero  would  wish  to  die,  at  his  post,  in  dis 
charge  of  his  duties;  he  was  carried  from  his  judicial  seat  and  court 
room  as  the  honored  dead  alone  are  carried.  It  remains  to  us  but 
to  add  our  small  tribute  to  the  great  respect  of  a  sorrowing  com 
munity  over  his  fallen  body. 

Wm.  P.  Daingerfield's  virtues  as  a  man  and  gentleman,  great 
ly  exceeded,  in  our  estimation,  the  mere  intellectual  abilities  dis 
played  by  him  as  a  Judge,  high  and  honored  as  these  latter  may  have 
been.  We  have  seen  him  in  the  exalted  moods  of  the  grandest  man 
hood,  and  have  living  evidence  of  the  depth  of  his  soul,  and  of  the 
nobility  of  his  feelings.  At  a  time  when  party  feeling  in  this  county, 
last  fall,  ran  so  high  in  certain  quarters,  that  a  base  attempt  was 
made  to  involve  the  Journal  in  a  misunderstanding  with  Judge 
Daingerfield,  the  man's  quick  perceptions  of  truth  and  right,  and 
of  the  sincerity  of  the  course  of  this  paper  toward  him,  immediate 
ly  after  his  final  departure  from  the  scenes  of  his  labor  in  this  coun 
ty  as  District  Judge,  and  upon  his  reception  of  the  Journal  relating 
the  facts  of  the  farewell  scene  in  his  court  room  with  the  people  of 
this  county,  led  him  to  indite  and  forward  from  San  Francisco,  the 
following  note  to  the  editor: 

In  Court,   Dec.   12,   1879. 
R.  G.  Rowley,  Esq. — Dear  Sir:   I  thank  you  sincerely 

for  your  kindly  and  generous  words  in  the  Journal.     May 

you  never  have  reason  to  retract  them.     I  am  truly,  truly 

grateful  to  the  people  of  San  Mateo  County  for  all  their 

kindnesses  to  me. 

Very  Hastily,  your  Obliged  Servant, 

Wm.   P.   Daingerfield. 

This  expression  of  good  will  toward  the  people  of  this  county, 
was  the  heartfelt  feeling  of  the  man.  He  ever  entertained  the  kind 
est  regard  for  them.  It  is  not  amiss  here  to  state  the  fact,  too,  that 
Judge  Daingerfield  owed  his  recent  elevation  to  the  Superior  bench 


188  POETRY  AND  PROSE  SELECTIONS 


of  San  Francisco,  to  the  Workingmen.  He  was  truly  a  representa 
tive  man  amongst  the  laboring  classes'  few  real  friends.  His  was 
of  the  true  Robert  Burns  sympathy;  the  spontaneous  outburst  of  a 
deep  natural  feeling  for,  and  love  of,  humanity.  It  is  a  fact,  too, 
that  despite  the  jibes  and  sneers  of  their  enemies,  the  laboring 
classes  have  elevated  to  the  Supreme  bench  of  the  State,  the  finest 
and  ablest  judiciary  that  has  yet  graced  the  position.  So  in  the 
Superior  Court  of  that  county,  as  of  this,  the  men  selected  and 
elected  by  them,  are  an  honor  to  the  bench,  as  well  as  to  the  men 
that  sent  them.  So  much,  at  least,  have  the  people  to  thank  the 
Plebian  rabble,  the  Sand-lotters,  or  what  you  will,  for. 

Judge  Daingerfield  was  one  of  these.  His  untiring  devotion 
to  his  duties  has  now  cost  him  his  life.  He  laid  it  down  where  he 
picked  it  up,  kindly,  gently,  nobly,  at  the  people's  tVi  t .  It  becomes 
them  to  honor  him  now,  dead,  and  to  cherish  his  memory  as  kindly 
as  he  served  them.  Few  men  are  so  well  deserving  of  this  tribute 
of  honor  and  respect.  Rest,  good  Judge!  Rest,  kind  man!  Rest! 


A  Ring  Supervisor  Giving  Way  to  a  Reform  Supervisor 


Mr.  Ames,  to  the  Chairman  of  the  Board:  "I  rise,  Mr.  Chair 
man,  to  perform  one  of  the  most  pleasing  duties  of  my  life,  introduce 
my  successor,  Mr.  Hatch.  I  believe  now,  that  I  made  a  most  se 
rious  mistake  in  not  retiring  from  the  Board  in  October  last.  Had 
I  this  to  do  over  again,  I  should  unhesitatingly  vacate  my  seat  at 
once,  and  not  attempt  to  thwart  the  will  of  the  people.  The  duties 
of  Supervisor  of  this  county,  are  arduous  and  responsible.  From 
my  experience  and  knowledge,  I  can  safely  say  to  my  successor,  in 
all  kindness  and  g(x>d  intention,  that  he  will  find  his  road  anything 
but  an  easy  one  to  travel,  and  that  he  will  almost  immediately 
from  its  inception  by  him,  find  the  position  one  of  great  difficulty 
and  care,  beset  with  troubles  he  nowr  dreams  but  little  of,  with  the 
pathway  strewed  with  stumbling  blocks,  and  filled  with  hidden 
ditches,  which  will  take  his  utmost  caution  and  sagacity  to  over 
come  and  pass  in  safety."  To  all  of  the  latter  portion  of  which  ad 
dress  Mr.  Hatch  l>owed  a  most  profound  acquiescence. 


RIDCAYAY  r.KORC.K  ROWLEY  189 


Journal  Mites  and  Palo  Alto  Items. 


—The  second  trial  of  Carlton  for  the  killing  of  Editor  Brummet 
at  Hollister,  was  concluded  at  San  Jose  recently  by  a  disagreement 
of  the  jury.  The  third  trial  will  commence  immediately.  This 
makes  three  recent  cases  in  the  State  where  the  attempt  to  convict 
a  murderer  of  an  editor  has  failed.  Only  an  editor,  nothing  more! 
In  the  name  of  Charity!  that  Christian  rarity!  what  is  a  poor  edi 
tor's  life  worth?  Seemingly  not  the  salt  that  he  eats  with  his  crust 
of  daily  bread!  Working  for  nothing!  living  for  others!  dying  for 
them!  he  must  live  like  a  dog,  to  die  like  a  hog!  kicked  into  eternity 
on  the  toe  of  some  revengeful  scoundrel's  boot!  denied  a  grave,  a 
tear,  or  even  the  slight  recompense  of  the  law's  satisfaction! 

— The  Journal  has  had  occasion  to  comment  upon  the  decisions 
of  Judge  Daingerfield,  in  one  or  two  important  instances,  but  has 
always  done  so,  we  believe,  in  a  fair  and  lawful  manner;  and  we 
are  quite  sure  that  if  Judge  Daingerfield  was  consulted  thereon,  to 
day,  he  would  admit  the  justice  and  correctness  of  such  criticisms; 
we  have  that  much  confidence  in  his  fairness,  and  knowledge  of 
law,  when  a  whole  case  has  been  properly  presented  to  him.  The 
challenge  of  keeping  juries  without  occasion,  at  great  expense  to 
the  county,  was  not  directed  especially  at  the  Judge;  the  bar  is 
chiefly  responsible  for  it.  But  we  did  not  care  who  it  was  directed 
at,  so  long  as  the  charge  was  a  fair  and  truthful  one,  w^hich  it  was 
in  that  instance;  and  the  savage  manner  in  which  it  was  replied  to 
shows  how  deeply  it  cut.  Truth  is  the  sharpest  of  weapons.  False 
hood  can  never  be  whetted  to  such  an  edge.  The  flimsy  attempt 
to  talk  law  to  us  by  an  asinus  ad  lyrum,  is  too  puerile  and  conceited 
to  be  noticed.  They  further  say  "Mr.  Rowley  doubtless  knows 
what  an  issue  of  fact  is."  Well,  really,  do  our  eyes  deceive  us? 
If  there  isn't  a  handle  put  to  that  name  at  last!  Chalk  us  one, 
anyway.  We've  been  so  used  to  seeing  it  "that  Rowley"  and  "that 
fellow"  and  "that  man,"  that  we  had  almost  despaired.  Well, 
you  know  there  are  spaniels  that  the  more  you  whip  them,  the 
better  they  like  you.  Yes,  we  do  know  what  an  issue  of  fact  is. 
It  is  precisely  the  issue  that  is  raised  between  the  Times  &  Gazette, 
and  the  San  Mateo  County  Journal,  and  which  we  now  propose  to 
try  before  the  bar  of  the  people. 


190  POKTRY  AM)   PROSK  SELECTIONS 

The  Poisoned  Touch  of  Gold 


The  vital  weakness  of  the  American  Press  is  its  stooping  to 
wealth  and  influence.  This  vice  has  grown  with  the  body  politic, 
expanding  with  it  year  by  year,  until  now  it  lies  over  all  the  best 
works  and  powers  of  the  Press  like  an  incubus  of  portentous  dark 
ness,  ominous  of  self-destruction.  We  much  fear  that  the  self-re 
liance,  self-rtspect,  honor  and  integrity  of  the  writers  of  public 
opinion  have,  under  the  touch  of  Midas,  bowed  down  in  their  wor 
ship  of  the  Golden  Calf,  until  now  but  a  shadow  of  their  former 
greatness  remains  to  them. 

When  men,  simply  because  poor,  can  humble  themselves,  and 
in  abject  attitude  bend  low  the  head,  with  cringing  knee,  as  wealth 
passes  by  or  greets  them,  the  loss  of  manliness  has  no  offset,  no  relief, 
made  possible  by  any  momentary  touch  of  flattered  vanity  or  pride . 
There  are  qualities  in  human  nature  which  make  strong,  stern, 
manly  hearts  revolt  at  the  sycophancy  of  their  fellow-men,  and  the 
mortal  weakness  of  their  race,  as  manifested  so  often  when  the  poor 
stand  in  the  presence  of  the  rich.  \Vhat  is  there  of  man  that  should 
yield  such  supremacy  to  man?  What  are  all  the  gilded  trappings 
of  wealth,  compared  with  the  solid  worth  of  a  true  human  heart? 

As  society  is  now  organized,  as  reared  upon  the  false  base  on 
which  it  now  stands,  the  highest  and  chiefest  glories  of  humanity 
are  made  subservient  to  its  basest  and  most  selfish  attributes.  The 
time  seems  to  have  come  for  the  advent  of  another  Burns,  who  shall 
advocate  the  cause  of  man  from  a  standpoint  of  pure  humanity; 
when,  by  his  life  of  song,  in  which  the  true  inspiration  of  genius 
concentrates  burning  words  of  eloquent  human  sympathy,  man 
shall  be  again  taught  that  the  soul  alone  is  the  measure  of  the  man ; 
and  that  despite  the  outward  tokens  of  the  wealth  of  gold  he  bears,  a 
man  may  still  be  infinitely  poorer  than  he  whose  chalice  of  life  has 
naught  of  the  frosted  ornament  of  leaf  or  vine  without,  but  rather 
conceals,  by  its  plainness,  the  lining  of  gold  within. 

We  read,  with  much  annoyance  of  spirit,  the  printed  record  of  a 
wedding  in  high  life,  as  it  is  called ;  when  two  human  beings  are  pre 
tended  to  be  made  as  one  under  the  ban  of  gold.  The  costly  orna 
ments  of  dress,  the  glittering  diamonds  of  tht  bride,  the  flowing  lace 
and  satined  trail,  the  flowered  path  and  marriage  bell,  the  gorgeous 
presents  and  royal  feast,  are  all  there  described  and  descanted  upon 


RIDGWAY  GEORGE  ROWLEY  191 


with  the  full  power  of  word-painting,  as  if  all  this,  and  these  alone 
could  make  two  hearts  as  one.  There  may  stand  side  by  side  before 
the  altar,  two  mortal  figures,  one  draped  in  the  glowing  splendors  of 
wealth  and  fashion,  the  other  proud  and  grand  in  his  formal  cloth, 
and  yet,  with  all  these  surroundings  of  gilded  riches,  they  may  both 
be  the  poorest  of  the  poor — marble  hearts,  united  by  society  in  the 
ties  of  wedlock,  which  to  them  may  be,  and  oft  times  are,  the  grave 
of  all  true  youthful  hopes,  of  love,  and  human  affection.  Then 
are  the  trappings  of  wealth  but  the  trappings  of  woe;  then  has  gold 
lost  its  power  to  contribute  to  human  happiness,  and  justly  sinks 
into  insignificance,  as  weighed  with  human  feeling.  When  souls 
are  thus  made  a  living  sacrifice  upon  the  altar  of  Mammon,  the 
curse  of  gold  is  seen  in  all  its  horror,  and  one  could  well  shrink  in 
terror  from  its  blighting  touch. 

But  to  what  source  shall  we  turn  to  read  of  the  marriage  of  two 
loving  hearts,  the  one  clad  in  the  simple  but  spotless  muslin  robe  of 
a  maid,  the  other  arrayed,  not  in  broadcloth  and  kid,  but  in  the 
plain  attire  of  a  man?  The  roof,  beneath  which  they  stand  with 
clasped  hands,  is  humble  and  unpretending.  No  polished  mirrors 
and  costly  pictures,  and  carved  furniture  here — all  is  as  the  ordinary 
home  of  an  American  farmer.  But  the  swain  and  fair  maid  that 
stand  there,  not  rigid  with  frigid  form  and  ceremony,  but  natural 
and  unaffected,  each  yielding  to  the  other  the  full  measure  of  a  hap 
py,  loving  human  heart,  and  showing  by  their  illumined  faces  that 
the  best  feelings  of  their  best  natures  are  triumphant — so  truthful, 
hopeful,  loveful,  joyful — what  pen  is  employed  to  describe  their 
wedding,  their  natural  union  of  heart  and  soul,  the  highest  crown  of 
human  hope  and  glory?  Standing  beside  this  boy  and  girl,  what 
right  have  your  painted  statues  of  society  to  claim  all  the  honor  and 
homage  of  mankind?  In  which  exists  the  true  worth?  What  is 
the  proper  test  of  true  wealth?  Shall  it  be  measured  by  the  depth 
of  the  purse,  or  by  the  span  of  the  heart,  the  reach  of  the  soul? 
When  the  age  comes,  as  come  at  last  it  must,  when  human  worth 
shall  be  measured  by  this  rule  of  right,  then  will  man  be  indeed 
free,  and  enjoy  the  state  of  his  earthly  existence  as  his  maker  in 
tended  he  should.  The  age  of  gold  will  then  be  transformed  into 
an  age  of  humanity,  and  though  poor,  a  man  will  be  "a  man  for  a' 
that." 


192  1'OKTRY  AND  PROSK  SKI.KCTK  )NS 


Journal  Mites  and  Palo  Alta  Items. 

— A  late  fashion  journal  says:  "Babies'  short  dresses  are  cov 
ered  with  lace."  When  was  there  a  time  since  babies  were  babies, 
and  each  mother's  the  best,  that  their  little  dresses  were  not  a  mar 
vel  of  whiteness  and  lace?  There  is  but  one  garment  that  ever  ap 
proached  a  baby's  dress  in  being  so  spotless  white  and  covered  with 
lace,  and  this  is — well,  we  have  forgotten  the  name;  in  fact,  as  we 
now  think  about  it,  we  don't  believe  we  ever  saw  one. 

—The  shadow  of  great  wealth  falls  like  a  funeral  pall  of  dark 
ness  and  distress  on  all  about  it.  There  is  something  in  the  very 
atmosphere  near  it  that  seems  to  choke  and  stifle  the  growth  of  all 
other  men's  prosperity.  It  is  of  itself  such  a  central  sun  that  all 
smaller  satellites  must  be  made  subservient  to  it;  and  by  its  su 
perior  gravitation  all  smaller  bodies  are  hopelessly  drawn  towards 
its  centre,  there  to  be  absorbed.  The  greater  the  palace,  the  smaller 
and  meaner  the  hovels  under  its  garden  walls.  There  would  seem 
to  be  some  hidden  law  of  nature  here  which  should  be  laid  bare  to 
the  study  of  mankind.  It  is  well  we  should  awake  to  this  new 
study,  and  not  sleep  or  dream  over  it  too  long. 

—A  subscriber  who,  "always  pays  for  his  paper  in  advance," 
and  finds  another  paper  that  he  hasn't  subscribed  for,  "thrown  over 
his  fence" — but  which  latter  paper  he  is  sure  to  go  for  just  as  soon 
as  it  gets  over  that  fence,  and  which  he  reads  from  top  to  bottom, 
and  from  left  hand  to  right,  every  time  and  without  fail — sends  us 
the  following  question  to  answer:  "Mr.  Editor,  suppose  you  had  a 
kitchen  on  the  northwest  corner  of  your  house,  and  a  horse  stable 
on  the  southeast  corner  of  your  lot,  the  question  is  how  would 
you  manage  to  keep  out  of  your  sitting-room  the  smell  of  corned- 
beef  and  cabbage  when  the  northwest  wind  blows,  and  the  rank 
odor  of  horses  when  the  southeast  wind  blows?"  Why,  easy  enough, 
Mr.  Subscriber,  you  who  pay  for  your  paper  in  advance;  the  ques 
tion  is  as  easily  disposed  of  as  is  that  newspaper  law  so  constantly 
quoted  by  "that  paper  that  you  pay  for."  Our  reply  is  simply, 
stable  your  horses  in  the  kitchen  and  cook  your  corned-beef  and 
cabbage  in  the  stable.  Then-  i>  nothing  .in  editor  can  do  so  much 
to  the  advantage  of  the  general  interests  of  tin  public,  as  answer  at 
length  the  silly  questions  of  that  altogether  too  much  honored 
individual,  facetiously  -inning  him-clf  "SuliM-riU  r." 


RIDGWAY  GEORGE  ROWLEY  193 

LIST  TO  IT! 


A  Still  Small  Voice  from  the  Coast  Speaks  in  Thunder  Tones  to  the 
People,  and  Though  from  a  Woman,  it  Comes  With  More  than 
a  Mans  Strength! 

Editor  Journal:  If  I  could  grasp  your  hand  and  bid  you  "God 
speed"  in  your  noble  work,  you  would  know  how  earnestly  I  desire 
it,  for  I  believe  you  are  the  right  man  in  the  right  place,  at  the  head 
of  a  great  reform,  and  my  prayer  is  that  God  will  help  you,  for  I 
almost  fear  the  people  will  not  do  just  their  share  of  the  work.  I 
have  great  faith,  but  I  believe  in  works  also.  Too  many  would 
be  friends  of  the  Journal  if  they  were  only  sure  it  would  be  on  the 
ultimately  strong  side — if  it  had  a  gold  basis  as  well  as  a  true  one. 
***** 

I  wish  I  could  do  real  work  for  the  Journal.  If  I  was  only  a 
man  I  would  canvass  the  county  over  for  subscribers.  But  what 
can  a  poor  farmer's  wife  do  tied  up  at  home  with  the  manifold  cares 
of  her  household?  We  all  know  a  farmer's  household  means  a 
house  full  of  cares  and  troubles,  and  then  what  business  have  we 
to  do  anything  but  toil  early  and  late?  Interest  and  taxes  are  hard 
task-masters,  and  shall  we  dare  to  enter  our  protest  against  them? 
Shall  we  murmur  because  denied  necessaries,  wherewith  others,  not 
toiling,  may  enjoy  luxuries?  Nay,  more,  shall  we  speak  when  our 
very  homes  are  imperilled  by  their  presence? 

I  think  if  the  Journal  lives  and  is  supported — and  who  can 
doubt  it — there  will  be  some  loud  utterances  ere  they  make  this 
last  demand,  and  they  are  on  the  very  threshold  now.  WTe  hear 
the  cry,  "hard  times,"  "retrench,"  "retreat,"  Journal!  But  how 
can  we,  and  why  should  we?  Let  us  forward  like  men  and  throw 
off  the  shackles.  Stand  by  the  Journal,  friends,  take  it,  read  it, 
write  for  it,  and  finally  pay  j or  it,  if  you  do  without  tea  or  coffee  or 
some  other  things  that  we  deem  physical  necessities,  for  it  is  indeed 
a  balm  for  the  soul,  a  cure  for  troubled  minds.  It  is  your  only 
salvation,  stand  by  the  Journal  and  it  will  stand  by  you,  it  will  fight 
for  you  and  your  rights,  will  it  not,  Mr.  Editor?  You  are  not  go 
ing  to  sell  out,  are  you?  Some  are  terribly  afraid  you  will,  and  they 
might  lose  their  subscription,  which  we  know  has  never  been  paid. 


1<U  POETRY  AM)  PROSE  SELECTIONS 


I  may  hazard  the  assertion,  however,  that  money  does  not  buy 
brains,  or  integrity,  at  least  it  did  not  when  the  People's  Journal 
sold  out.  We  are  certain  of  that,  for  we  have  never  seen  anything 
of  either  in  the  Gazette  since,  and  that  was  the  buyer;  but  then  we 
did  not  look  for  it.  Some  one  has  beautifully  said,  laborare  est 
orare.  Now,  friends,  let  us  labor  in  the  right  direction,  and  our 
prayers,  in  time,  will  be  answered.  Through  the  Journal  "man 
dost  hear  us" ;  you  know  he  will  not  through  the  Gazette.  Our  task 
masters  wield  the  pen  of  that  paper,  and  will  they  give  space  to  our 
utterances?  to  our  complaints  of  exhorbitant  taxes,  or  as  to  the 
manner  in  which  they  are  dispensed?  Nay,  they  would  rather  say, 
"Ye  tillers  of  the  soil,  walk  ye  up  and  pay,  and  say  not  a  word! 
You  know  nothing  of  all  these  things!"  And  many  do  not  say  a 
word,  because  they  do  not  understand  the  intricacies  of  county 
government,  etc.;  but  Mr.  Editor  does,  and  he  will  expose  them  for 
the  benefit  of  us  poor  tax-payers.  I  have  great  confidence  that  he 
will,  if  you  will  only  pay  for  his  paper,  instead  of  giving  your  sub 
scription  over  into  the  hands  of  the  enemy.  J  ust  now  we  are  called 
upon  to  pay  a  tax  of  two  per  cent,  when  one  should  be  ample,  on  an 
equitable  taxation,  to  defray  all  county  expenses. 

How  many  farmers'  wives  understand  these  things  better  than 
I  do,  and  still  they  are  doing  the  work  of  two  or  three  women,  turn 
ing  and  making  over  garments,  and  economizing  in  every  possible 
way,  even  to  letting  their  dear  little  ones  paddle  out  in  the  mud  and 
cold,  barefooted,  for  want  of  means  to  buy  shoes  with,  until  possibly 
the  fell  destroyer  comes  and  takes  them  to  Heaven,  away  from  us. 
Now,  we've  economized  in  tlii>  way  for  the  past  three  or  tour  years, 
and  still  are  no  letter  off.  Let  us  now  throw  away  needles  and 
thread,  and  work  another  way — speak  of  these'  wrongs  through  t he- 
columns  of  the  Journal,  as  duty  and  conscience  have  compelled 
me  to.  Tin  ii,  good  >ooth.  we  pray  indeed,  and  a>  man  dost  hear 
US,  (iod,  He  will,  and  in  due  time  our  wrongs  shall  be  righted. 

Substitute. 
Pescadnn.  I  >ec.  15th. 


RIDGWAY  GEORGE  ROWLEY  195 


Journal  Mites  and  Palo  Alto  Items. 


-"Rattle  his  bones,  over  the  stones,  only  a  pauper  that  no 
body  owns."  The  poor  dead  of  San  Francisco  are  kept  in  an  un 
dertaker's  cellar,  in  naked  heaps,  until  "a  load"  is  accumulated, 
when  they  are  carted  off  in  the  night  to  the  Potter's  field,  and  thrown 
into  a  common  pit,  like  dogs.  It  costs  the  city  just  $1.37^  each 
to  bury  them,  while  a  quarter  of  a  million  dollars  was  stolen  from 
tax- payers  in  the  Dupont  street  frauds  alone.  This  is  "our  ad 
vanced  stage  of  civilization."  Let  us  go  back  to  barbarism.  Sav 
ages  have  at  least  a  decent  respect  for  their  dead,  and  may  steal 
bread,  but  not  rob  corpses  of  decent  burial. 

— T.  M.  Cook  went  to  San  Francisco  on  Friday  last  to  testify 
against  Robert  Desty  before  the  Justices  taking  testimony  in  the 
case.  Mr.  Cook  took  with  him  a  spare  copy  of  a  paper  called  the 
Times  and  Gazette,  in  order  to  prove  from  it  that  the  voters  of  San 
Mateo  and  San  Francisco  counties  had  full  knowledge  of  the  fact 
that  Mr.  Desty  was  not  a  citizen  at  the  time  he  became  a  candidate 
for  the  Senate.  Such  evidence  might  be  admitted  in  a  Justice's 
Court,  but  never  in  a  court  of  higher  degree.  The  presumption 
that  the  people  of  San  Francisco  "had  full  knowledge"  of  any  fact 
merely  because  it  was  published  in  that  paper,  is  simply  immense. 
We  cannot  recall  an  instance  of  like  conceit  since  the  day  that  Ba 
laam  rode  his  ass  forth,  and  made  it  talk  in  his  stead.  The  circum 
stances  of  the  two  cases  are  quite  similar. 

— At  the  public  school  yesterday  a  boy  got  up  to  read  a  com 
position  on  "The  Tree."  He  got  as  far  as  "This  subject  has  many 
branches,"  when  Gid  said,  "Stop,  you  have  not  made  your  bough 
yet."  "If  you  interrupt  me  again,"  said  the  boy,  "I'll  leave." 
"You  give  me  any  more  impudence  and  I'll  take  the  Sap  out  of  you. 
Do  you  understand?"  said  the  teacher.  "I  twig,"  said  the  boy,  and 
then  the  regular  order  of  business  proceeded. — Eureka  Leader. 

But  it  hadn't  proceeded  far  before  the  boy  began  to  cough. 
"Stop  your  barking,"  said  the  teacher,  "or  I'll  give  you  the  bud." 
"Wood  you  be  so  mean  when  a  feller  can't  help  it?"  replied  the  boy. 
"You  little  rascal,  I'll  tear  you  limb  from  limb,  if  you  talk  back  to 
me."  Here  the  boy  began  to  cry,  and  paused  to  wipe  his  nose,  it 
was  knotty. 


196  POKTRY  AND  PROSK  SELECTIONS 

G — 's  Indigent  Fund 


Stij  t  rvisor  (i has  an  indigent  in  the  north  end  of  the  county 

\\l)o>r  I.IM  bill  presented  to  the  Board  by  a  store-keeper,  and  al 
lowed,  sh<>\\-  >oim-  features  which  the  economical  Cook  should  cer 
tainly  know  about.  It  is  a  shame  that  this  learned  writer  on  po 
litical  economy  should  waste  his  mighty  efforts  over  such  small 
points  as  he  does,  and  fritter  away  his  massive  intellect  on  unworthy 
objects.  We  propose,  hereafter,  to  give  him  material  to  work  upon 
so  that  he  may  have  a  foe  worthy  of  his  steal.  Hark  ye,  Cook,  to 
the  following:  lf>  in  a  bill  filed  by  order  of  Supervisor  G — 
for  the  expense  of  an  indigent  outside  of  the  Poor  Farm,  and  al 
lowed  under  his  advice  at  the  last  Board:  "Bottle  of  port  wine,  65 
cts. ;  bottle  of  brandy,  75  cts. ;  clothes  line,  20  cts. ;  1  dozen  cans 
oysters,  $1.50;  cash,  $5;  one  tub,  50  cts.;  to  subscription  to  Daily 
Call,  S3;  to  cash,  $5;  to  nails,  50  cts.;  to  horehound  candy,  25  cts.; 
to  cash,  $5 ;  to  bottle  ot  brandy,  75  cts. ;  to  cash,  $5. 

Now,  port  wine,  and  brandy,  and  oysters,  and  cash,  and  sub 
scription  to  daily  newspapers,  and  a  little  more  cash,  then  hore 
hound  candy,  and  a  little  more  cash,  then  another  bottle  of  brandy, 
and  another  five-dollar  piece,  is  pretty  generous  treatment  of  a 
county  indigent.  But  then  our  leading  Supervisors  are  large-souled, 
most  generous-hearted  men — writh  the  county's  money.  With 
such  liberal  fare  and  good  treatment  as  this,  there  are  but  few  poor 
in  the  county  who  would  not  like  to  be  under  good  Supervisor 

's  special  care.  But  when  election  time  should  come  around,  then 
would  it  be  expected  that  the  day  of  return  thanks  had  arrived,  and 
unless  properly  responded  to,  the  stern  order  would  follow  soon  after: 
"To  the  poor  house!  to  the  poor  house!  go!  to  the  poor  house!" 
Alas  for  human  nature!  It's  ever  so  queer! 


We  Rise  to  Explain 


We  understand  that  some  persons  are  misapprehending  the 
nature  of  those  articles  published  in  the  Times  andGazette,  and  signed 
R.  G.  Rowley.  We  would  say  to  such  that  they  are  but  extracts  of 
something  that  was  written  three  years  ago,  and  related  only  to  the 
People  s  Journal.  They  have  no  reference  to  the  present,  or  to  the 


RIDGWAY  GEORGE  ROWLEY  197 


existing  County  Journal.  The  leaving  out  of  any  statement  of  what 
the  article  refers  to,  as  well  as  of  quotation  marks  at  times,  showing 
that  the  article  was  copied  from  something  else,  is  only  one  of  the 
little  petty  meannesses  practiced  by  that  paper  to  mislead  people. 
By  this  they  hope  to  induce  some  persons  to  believe  the  article  re 
fers  to  the  present  and  to  the  County  Journal.  This  is  the  spirit  ol 
fairness  which  has  ever  characterized  the  management  of  that  pa 
per,  so  we  expect  nothing  better;  in  fact,  we  want  nothing  better 
than  the  republication  of  that  farewell  address,  on  a  square  basis. 
It  shows  upon  the  face  of  it  that  it  is  not  the  language  of  a  man  "sell 
ing  out,"  as  that  phrase  is  usually  understood  to  mean,  to-wit:  to 
make  money.  It  shows,  on  the  contrary,  only  a  desire  to  "get-out" 
as  soon  as  possible,  in  a  righteous  fit  of  indignation.  There  is  the 
mark  of  pride  and  spirit  there,  but  not  of  avarice  or  cupidity.  We 
leave  sensible  men  to  judge  of  that  distinction,  which  is  quite  ma 
terial  in  the  present  issue.  At  a  day  not  far  distant,  we  shall  pub 
lish  the  history  of  the  "true  inwardness"  of  the  persecution  and 
harassment  of  that  journal,  a  reiteration  of  which  is  being  attempt 
ed  against  this  journal,  but  with  very  poor  prospects  of  success. 
We  shall  there  open  the  eyes  of  the  people  of  this  county  to  some 
things  they  now  little  dream  of,  and  if  the  reaction,  then,  is  not  most 
favorable  to  the  support  of  the  new  County  Journal  by  them,  then 
we  greatly  mistake  the  temper  of  the  people  in  whose  midst  we  live. 
We  want  it,  once  for  all,  distinctly  understood  that  the  County 
Journal  stays  and  lives,  or  dies,  by  virtue  of  its  own  merits  or  de 
merits,  right  here,  according  as  the  will  of  the  people  of  the  county 
shall  determine.  It  is  for  them  to  support  it,  and  make  it  in  every 
sense  their  paper,  or  to  let  it  die  out  as  unworthy  of  support.  The 
Sheriff  may  sell  it  out,  but  no  other  man. 

The  editor  of  The  Journal  would  further  add  that  he  has  no 
axes  of  his  own  to  grind,  he  wants  no  office,  and  under  no  circum 
stances  will  he  ever  seek  one;  he  simply  desires  to  establish  a  news 
paper  in  San  Mateo  County,  and  have  it  supported  by  the  people 
as  their  paper.  He  failed  at  it  once,  hence  his  determined  effort 
this  time  to  redeem  that  failure;  now,  with  the  vox  Dei  as  well  as 
the  vox  Populi  on  his  side,  it  must  succeed — it  shall  succeed. 


198  POETRY  AND  PROSE  SELECTION^ 

Journal  Mites  and  Palo  Alto  Items. 


—Yes,  consider  the  matter  of  raising  the  assessment  of  a  print 
ing  press  a  hundred  dollars  or  so;  give  it  good  thought  and  consid 
eration,  gentlemen,  lest  you  do  harm,  and  wrong  the  county  out  of 
an  assessment  of  a  hundred  dollars.  But  when  great  corporations 
come  before  you  and  ask  for  a  reduction  of  a  million  and  a  half 
at  one  fell  blow,  go  right  about  it  and  do  it ;  wait  not  upon  the  order 
of  your  doing  it,  but  do  it  at  once.  'Twas  ever  thus.  From  child 
hood's  hour,  I've  seen  the  rich  man  have  his  way,  but  for  the  de 
spised,  down-trodden  poor,  there  is  no  hope,  nor  better  day. 

— Mr.  T.  M.  Cook,  editor  Times  and  Gazette,  made  a  voluntary 
appearance  before  the  Redwood  Literary  Club,  in  the  Court  House 
on  Saturday  evening  last.  A  good  audience  greeted  the  speaker. 
Mr.  Cook's  remarks  were  off-hand,  and  consisted  of  an  interesting 
description  of  his  adventures  as  war  correspondent  of  the  New  York 
Herald,  during  the  war  of  the  Rebellion.  His  description  of  several 
battles,  as  witnessed  by  himself,  was  vivid  and  effective.  He  thinks 
the  duty  of  a  newspaper  war  correspondent,  however,  is  to  "cor 
respond"  and  not  to  fight.  He  is  willing  to  leave  that  part  of  the 
business  to  the  "editor."  Now,  that  the  gentleman  is  an  editor, 
this  suggestion  would  seem  to  be  doubly  suggestive. 

—They,  the  T.  &G.  give  a  horticultural  work  along  with  it  now, 
all  for  four  dollars.  If  this  don't  win,  a  magnificent  chromo  will 
be  thrown  in,  and  finally  a  setting  hen,  and  a  bull  pup.  If  they 
would  only  take  the  newspaper  part  of  the  dose  out,  they  may  find 
a  few  patients  willing  to  swallow  the  book  and  pup  part  of  it.  But 
oh,  my  readers,  it  is  a  terrible  dose  to  take  the  wrhole  compound 
as  it  is;  castor  oil,  senna  and  manna,  Jaynes'  Hair  Restorative,  are 
all  sweet  and  palatable  in  comparison.  There  is  but  one  way  to 
swallow  the  mixture,  and  that  is  as  we  did  our  medicine  when  chil 
dren — shut  the  eyes,  open  the  mouth,  stick  out  the  tongue,  let 
mamma  put  it  in  with  a  spoon,  and  then  with  a  spasmodic  gulp, 
a  wrench  and  a  wry  face,  choke  it  down  and  go  off  and  cry  about 
it.  We  would  we  were  a  child  again,  for  now,  in  our  a^e,  it  is  not 
so  ea>y  a  mailer  to  cry,  and  we  know,  too  well,  that  unless  our  feel 
ings  can  have  expressive  vent  over  this  nauseous  compound,  we 
shall  have  need  for  a  physician  of  the  soul.  Spare  us!  in  mercy 
spare  us! 


RIDGWAY  GEORGE  ROWLEY  199 


America's  Weakness 


Uncle  Sam  is  bristling  up  with  courage  over  the  Chilian  situa 
tion.  The  activity  in  the  Navy  and  Navy  yards  exceeds  anything 
since  war  times.  Of  course,  all  this  is  not  to  bluff  poor  little  Chili. 
This  is  entirely  unnecessary.  There  is  the  power  behind  the  ni 
trate  beds  that  must  be  made  to  get  out  and  show  itself.  It  has 
skulked  through  the  South  American  Republics  to  the  great  detri 
ment  and  almost  destruction  of  American  interests  there,  long 
enough.  It  is  the  Union-Jack  of  England,  and  as  good  a  Jack  as 
he  may  have  been  in  the  past  at  some  trades,  he  will  soon  find  that 
he  is  not  master  of  this  one.  It  is  time,  high  time,  that  the  United 
States  should  most  emphatically  say  to  England  and  to  all  Euro 
pean  powers,  "Let  the  American  Republics  and  governments  alone. 
America  for  Americans.  Let  them  work  out  their  own  destinies, 
and  do  not  try  to  control  them,  especially  against  the  principles  and 
policies  of  the  United  States  government,  or  even  against  the  trade 
and  commerce  of  its  people."  These  lesser  American  Republics 
have  been  neglected  by  the  greater  one  too  long.  The  United 
States  should  stand,  not  only  as  a  mediator  between  them  in  their 
internal  dissensions,  but  as  a  protector  against  the  insidious  designs 
of  European  powers,  through  the  wily  machinations  of  their  mer 
chants.  England's  present  bluff,  and  almost  impudence,  as  mani 
fested  through  its  leading  press,  notably  the  old-time  thunderer, 
the  London  Times  and  its  malicious  correspondent,  is  only  done 
through  the  speaking-trumpet  on  the  quarter  deck  of  her  iron-clads. 

If  the  United  States  would  become  a  great  commercial  people, 
they  must  have  a  great  Navy.  Each  year  shows  the  increasing 
necessity  of  this,  until  now  the  necessity  is  ripened  absolutely  into 
a  question  of  national  existence.  It  is  passing  strange  that  Ameri 
can  statesmen  would  not  have  seen  the  inevitable  and  prepared  for 
it  in  the  by-gone  years.  But  American  statesmen,  bah!  where 
are  they?  With  but  one  exception,  there  isn't  a  living  one.  The 
living  pretenders  have  all  degenerated  into  sectional  politicians,  and 
their  example  is  fast  bringing  down  the  mass  of  the  American  people 
to  their  own  level.  Public  thought  is  becoming  concentrated  on 
home  matters,  trifles  many  of  them  are,  when  compared  with  the 
issues  forced  upon  us  by  the  world  at  large.  We  have  no  foreign 
policy.  We  have  no  international  principles  or  precedents  to  guide 


200  POKTRY  AM)  PROSK  SELECTIONS 


us.  Kach  day  is  presenting  to  us  a  question  Dimple  in  it>  form  as 
may  be,  yet  we  have  no  answer  to  it.  The  i»iu-s  of  tin  recent  Ital 
ian  imbroglio  went  straight  home  to  the  hearts  a>  well  a>  tin  h<  ad- 
of  all  true  Americans.  We  were  astonished  at  our  \\takm  >s  and 
our  ignorance,  and  could  answer  no  questions  but  by  bluff.  There 
should  be  an  American  foreign  policy,  American  international  law, 
American  principles  of  justice,  and,  behind  all,  the  bulwarks  of  a 
powerful  American  Navy,  sufficient  to  command  respect,  demand 
retraction,  punish  enemies,  and  assist  friends. — 1891 


—A  word  to  the  Monthly  Palo  Alto,  "for,  of,  to.  with  and  by  the 
students,  of  the  Leland  Stanford  Junior  I'niversity."  Do  change 
that  head  line.  It  looks  so  stupid  to  repeat  it  t wice.  We  know 
you  are  "tenderfeet"  from  the  East.  We  could  excuse  one  error  of 
the  sort,  but  not  its  repetition — Menlo  Park  is  not  in  Santa  Clara 
county,  it  is  in  San  Mateo  county.  We  are  well  aware  that  the  ur 
ban  and  sub-urban  residents  of  that  classic  town  \\ish  tin  y  were  in 
Santa  Clara  county,  but  the  fates  drew  the  line  at  the  creek  and  we 
cannot  now  help  it.  So  have  your  Palo  Alto  l:icld  change  its  tune 
on  its  Fyffe,  so  that  its  Smith  and  its  Sawyer  may  do  more  n --pon-i- 
ble  work. 


Palo  Alto  Answered 


Under  the  above  head,  "Menlonian,"  in  last  week's  Democrat, 
of  Redwood  City,  very  neatly,  and  we  might  >ay  rather  s\\eetly, 
answered  the  Palo  Alto's  arraignment  of  the  government  of  San 
Mateo  county,  in  the  isMieof  the  15th  in>iant ,  a-  follows: 

"The  suggestive  editorial  of  Kditor  Rowley  in  the  Palo  Alto 
last  week  was  kec  nly  (  njoyed.  not  alone  on  account  of  its  lit<  rarj 
beauty  or  eonimversial  charm,  or  its  inMriictive  road  history,  but 
also  upon  the  assurance  that  friend  Rowley  is  still  in  accord  wit  h  u> 
upon  t  he  ">iiper\  i>orial  imbecility"  that  ha-  marked  our  count  \  and 
has  dom-  so  much  to  check  M-  prOgTCSS.  \Ye  had  feared  that  the- 
plumed  knight  we  had  fought  BO  resolutely  with  in  year>  gone  by 

had  yielded  t<>  the  blandishments  of  that  supervisorial  imbecility, 

or  rat  In  r  duplicity,  as  we  have  n  ad  ii  \\  i  ii  len  by  the  editorial  pen 
ot  old.     We  feared  that  our  intellectual  1  ru  nd  had  yielded,  etc..  etc. 


RIDGWAY  GEORGE  ROWLEY  201 


Journal  Mites  and  Palo  Alto  Items. 


— Sprinkling  streets  is  a  distinct  political  issue  in  Santa  Cruz 
county,  this  fall.  The  use  of  water  is  not  so  much  an  issue  in  this 
county,  in  political  times,  as  that  of  whisky. 

—"There  is  no  room  in  this  small  county  for  two  newspapers." 
—  (Signed  R.  G.  Rowley. ) — T.  &  G.  So  say  we  now,  so  say  we  ever, 
and  as  we  live,  there  shall  be  but  one  newspaper  in  this  county  and 
that  one  shall  be  The  Journal. 

—The  renowned  Commodore  Nutt  was  in  town  on  Sunday. 
He  is  just  the  biggest  little  man  out,  and  a  hard  nut  to  crack.  He 
says  if  he  lived  in  this  county  he'd  beat  toll  roads.  We  presume 
he  means  by  throwing  his  great  bulk  in  the  tollgate,  and  blocking 
up  the  road- way.  We  wish  he  would  move  here. 

— A  little  suit  in  a  Justice  Court,  wherein  a  judgment  of  twenty 
dollars, only,  was  involved,  recently  shows  a  cost  bill  filed  of  $60.50. 
This  is  what  might  be  well  termed  getting  justice  with  a  vengeance. 
A  good  deal  more  vengeance,  though,  than  justice,  as  a  man  up  a 
tree  sees  it.  If  a  man  to  recover  $20  by  process  of  law  has  to  first 
lay  out  and  expend  $60.50,  paying  his  lawyer  extra  beside,  and  a 
debtor  who  is  compelled  by  law  to  pay  a  judgment  of  $20  must  also 
pay  $60.50  for  costs  of  collecting,  then  Justice's  scales  are  indeed 
badly  balanced,  or  her  bandage  slipped  down  off  her  eyes  so  that  the 
old  lady  can  go  but  one  eye  on  it. 

— A  grizzly  bear  was  seen  on  the  Dubb's  ranch,  near  La  Honda, 
by  the  Keiffer  boys  one  day  this  week.  His  bearship  sat  bolt  up 
right  on  open  ground  not  far  from  the  ranch  house,  and  caused  great 
consternation  amongst  the  stock  of  cattle  and  horses,  which  fled  pell- 
mell  to  the  safety  of  the  barn  corral.  On  the  opposite  side  of  La 
Honda,  on  the  same  day,  a  pair  of  beautiful  California  lions  were 
seen  very  near,  by  a  deer-hunter,  but  the  young  hunter  preferred  the 
buck  he  was  after,  and  shot  it,  letting  the  lions  escape,  which,  he 
says,  he  could  at  one  time  have  killed  at  one  shot.  And  while  these 
things  were  going  on,  down  below  in  the  fair  camp  of  La  Honda,  by 
the  banks  of  its  beautiful  creek,  there  slept  gentle  women  and  ten 
der  kids  within  the  frail  walls  of  canvas  tents,  all  unsuspecting  of 
the  great  brutes  sitting  on  the  neighboring  hill-tops  looking  down 
with  keen  nose  and  eager  eyes  on  what  might  be  such  a  nice  and 
enjoyable  breakfast. 


202  POKTRY  AND  PROSE  SELECTIONS 

The  Home  vs.  The  Dormitory 


The  Dormitory  system  at  Universities  is  not  all  that  it  is 
thought  to  he  when  viewed  at  a  distance.  The  objections  to  it  are 
immense,  and  concentrate  their  force  rapidly  when  it  is  attempted 
to  house  five  hundred  young  men  under  one  roof,  or  a  hundred  young 
women  under  another.  If  these  were  scattered  under  five  hundred 
roofs  their  educational  progress  would  he  accelerated  almost  that 
number  of  times.  The  evils  of  such  a  social  compact  and  impact 
are  making  themselves  quickly  manifest — even  in  the  Stanford,  with 
its  stone  palace  for  a  house.  The  home  is  the  place  for  the  boy  and 
young  man,  while  a  student ;  his  ideas  of  life  and  living  are  too  im 
mature  and  impracticable  to  commit  him  to  himself,  in  such  a  wil 
derness  of  raw  and  undisciplined  material  as  the  huge  barracks  now 
proposed.  When  the  country  about  the  Stanford  becomes  occupied 
by  the  houses  and  homes  of  parents  and  guardians,  then  the  in 
stitution  will  be  founded  upon  a  basis  broad  and  enduring,  and  then 
only.  It  should  be  the  chief  aim  of  the  founders  to  assist  in  every 
way  this  desirable  end.  With  means  of  access  and  entrances  on  all 
sides,  the  surrounding  lands  will  quickly  be  built  up  with  the  found 
ations  of  a  University,  rock-built.  Now  they  are  but  placed  upon 
shifting  sands,  and  the  tempests  of  time  are  certain  in  their  destruct 
ive  force.  The  present  system  can  only  be  a  temporary  and  what 
may  well  be  called  a  make-shift  one. 

The  existing  situation  would  seem  to  imply  that  the  recourse  to 
the  Dormitory  system  was  absolutely  necessary,  and  had  to  be  in 
dulged  in.  But  this  excuse  cannot  long  exist  if  the  founders  do 
not  desire  it  to,  and  have  not  made  it  part  of  their  perpetual  plans. 
It  is  safe  to  say  that  the  two  Dormitories  at  Stanford,  even  at  this 
early  stage  of  progress,  are  today  causing  more  trouble  and  anxiety 
to  both  Faculty  and  Founders  than  the  whole  (Juadrangle,  with  its 
class  rooms  and  laboratories  from  end  to  end.  Relief  must  come, 
and  the  sooner  the  better;  and  it  can  only  come  by  the  home  system, 
and  by  responsible  private  boarding  houses,  and  the  private  room 
ing  system  so  well  established  now  in  Cambridge  and  New  Haven. 
The  Yale  barracks  at  the  latter  place  stand  today  a^  an  evidence  of 
the  inutility  of  the  Dormitory  system.  They  are  dilapidated  and 
deserted,  and  not  desired  nor  desirable.  The  students  are  scattered 
through  the  city,  in  nx>ms  and  boarding  houses,  and  the  restraints 


RIDGWAY  GEORGE  ROWLEY  203 


of  home  life  and  family  discipline  take  the  place  of  the  abused  liber 
ty  and  license  of  the  great  public  hotel.  The  students  themselves 
soon  find  out  the  difference  between  the  two  manners  of  living,  and 
turn  toward  the  more  natural  and  sensible  one  of  their  own  accord. 
In  this  connection  it  is  not  deemed  best  to  more  than  allude  to 
the  Co-educational  University,  which  further  and  still  stronger  em 
phasizes  every  argument  that  can  be  advanced  against  the  Dormi 
tory  system.  Every  objection  that  can  be  raised  or  thought  of 
against  putting  young  men  in  Dormitories  is  doubly  intensified  and 
becomes  personified  to  a  degree  so  alarming  that  is  not  publicly 
debatable,  when  young  girls  are  placed  therein.  The  private  house, 
the  family  home,  the  individual  room  and  bed  and  table,  are  the 
only  proper  and  natural  places,  to  rear  children  in,  to  educate  the 
young  in,  to  sanctify  the  life  of  the  student  in. 


Two  Old  Ladies  of  France 


France  is  producing  some  remarkable  old  ladies.  Or  rather, 
to  put  it  correctly,  they  are  just  now  about  dying  off.  One  in 
particular  leaves  a  legacy  of  a  hundred  thousand  francs  "to  that  as 
tronomer,  who,  within  the  next  ten  years,  communicates  successfully 
with  one  of  the  stars  and  receives  an  answer" — the  old  woman 
doubtless  meant  one  of  the  planets,  but  it  is  immaterial.  The  fact, 
however,  shows  how  the  fitful  wanderings  of  scientific  minds  can 
impress  inferior  mortals  with  a  sublime  understanding  of  the  ridic 
ulous. 

Another  far  wiser  old  gal  was  she  who  left  her  old-time,  long 
time  "family  physician,"  in  reward  for  his  many  years  of  valuable 
services,  which  she  said  "had  enabled  her  to  reach  a  ripe  old  age," 
everything  contained  in  her  bonheur  du  jour — whatever  that  is, 
but  it  may  be  supposed  to  be  a  locked  secretary.  The  executors 
opened  the  case  to  the  anxious  and  expectant  M.  D.,  to  find  within 
it  nothing  but  the  unopened  and  unused  pill-boxes  and  potions  that 
he  had  prescribed  for  the  old  lady  for  the  past  ten  years.  Now, 
there  was  a  woman  of  fine  feeling  and  tender  consideration,  with  a 
philosophy  in  her  mental  make-up  worthy  of  analysis.  She  had 
not  the  heart  to  offend  her  old  friend,  by  letting  him  know  she  was 
not  taking  his  stuff,  and  she  had  not  the  stomach  to  take  it ;  so 


204  POETRY  AND  PROSE  SELECTIONS 


she  makes  a  splendid  compromise  between  the  two  keeping  the 
medico  in  the  blissful  conceit,  for  years,  that  his  remedies  were  vir 
tuous  and  vital;  thus  making  him  happy  all  her  life,  and  at  her 
death  only  making  manifest  what,  by  this  time,  if  he  had  any  sense, 
he  should  have  discovered  for  himself,  that  nature  is  vastly  superior 
to  physic,  and  that  human  life  is  controlled  by  natural  laws  and  not 
bv  accident. 


Vale!     Almaden! 


Poor  old  New  Almaden  is  no  more.  The  great  quicksilver 
mine  of  the  last  half  century  is  exhausted  and  its  men  are  discharged. 
Thirty-five  years  ago  and  the  very  life  of  San  Jose  depended  upon 
this  mine.  It  was  then  in  its  prime,  and  was  considered  the  most 
valuable  mine  property  in  the  state.  A  thousand  men  found  work 
in  and  about  it,  and  millions  of  dollars  were  produced  and  put  in 
circulation  by  it.  Santa  Clara  county  proudly  boasted  of  this  in 
valuable  possession;  San  Jose  thought  it  could  not  possibly  exist 
without  it.  Today  it  dies,  and  but  one  newspaper  in  that  town  more 
than  briefly  alludes  to  its  demise,  as  though  it  were  a  little  thing,  c  n- 
tirely  inconsequential.  Yet  San  Jose  exists,  bigger  and  prouder 
than  ever  (barring  the  Rea-Wood  suit)  and  the  great  revenue*  of  the 
Almaden  of  old  are  not  missed  by  it,  much  less  made  a  necessity. 
Such  is  life;  one  constant  change.  Up  we  go,  down  we  go,  now  all 
go  together.  Vale,  Almaden!  You  were  a  power  in  the  land  once. 
Many  men  fought  for  you,  and  died  for  you.  Now  none  so  poor 
as  to  do  you  reverence.  Vale! 


-The  Mayfield  Palo  Alto  has  changed  hands.  Mr.  H.  K. 
Hayne,  who  lias  conducted  the  paper  since  l-"ebniary,  has  disposed 
of  it  to  Mr.  R.  ('..  Rowley,  a  well  known  re>idcnt  and  capitalist  of 
Ma\  field.  The  incoming  man  has  had  a  great  deal  of  experience  a*  a 
writer,  having  conducted  a  paper  very  Micce»fully  in  San  Mateo 
county.  The  Journal  welcomes  Mr.  Rowley  to  the  newspaper  fra 
ternity  of  the  Santa  Clara  valley  and  wishes  for  him  abundant 
success. — Santa  Clara  Journal. 


RIDGWAY  GEORGE  ROWLEY  205 

Journal  Mites  and  Palo  Alto  Items. 


—We  copy:  "Near  Hollister,  February  1st,  to  the  wife  of  John 
Garcia,  a  son — the  eleventh."  John!  John!  but  one  more  makes  a 
dozen!  Eleven  sons!  Surely,  John,  yours  is  a  sonny  home,  and 
sonny  skies  must  gleam  brightly  over  sonny  fields.  John!  we  must 
say  that  the  nursery  rhyme  beginning  "John!  John!  my  son  John, 
went,  etc.,  etc.!"  was  never  a  truthful  song  of  thee,  John!  never! 

-"He  shall  gnaw  a  file,  and  flee  unto  the  mountains  of  Hep- 
sidam,  where  the  lion  roareth,  and  the  whangdoodle  mourneth  for 
its  first  born." 

The  long  silence  of  our  contemporary,  concerning  The  Journal, 
which  some  people  had  foolishly  enough  construed  as  being  a 
quiescent  state  of  wisdom  and  dignity,  was  broken  last  week  in 
exactly  the  manner  we  expected  it  would  be,  to  wit:  like  the  up 
setting  of  an  old  swill  tub  by  a  long-nosed  sow,  rooting  around  a 
hoosier's  back  door.  The  offal  spilt  on  the  ground  was  something 
truly  awful.  The  stench  filleth  our  nostrils  at  this  distance.  What 
a  stomach  a  brute  must  have  to  enjoy  rooting  around  in  such  a  mess. 
Magna  est  vis  consuetudinis . 

—The  double-headed,  four-armed,  four-legged,  two-in-one- 
bodied,  two-souled  woman,  was  exhibited  in  Germania  Hall,  Tues 
day  evening  to  a  crowded  house.  It  is  now  evident,  what  it  takes 
to  fill  a  house,  in  Redwood;  so  many  open  mouths,  and  wondering 
eyes,  never  before  stared  stage-ward.  The  immortal  mystery  sur 
rounding  that  piece  of  humanity,  is  something  awful.  One  went 
away  after  seeing  her,  in  doubt  whether  he  was  himself  one  or  two, 
and  after  retiring  at  night,  would  feel  over  on  the  other  pillow,  to  see 
whether  another  head  was  lying  there.  It  is  perfectly  horrible  to 
think  of.  Just  imagine  your  two  heads  turning  around,  and  look 
ing  into  each  others'  eyes,  or  of  kissing  one's  self.  But  stop  we 
shall  go  crazy  in  trying  to  solve  the  many  awful  situations  possible. 
If  she  should  marry,  which  head  would  the  fellow  talk  to,  for  his 
wife,  and  we  wonder  whether  the  other  head  would  not  be  jealous, 
and  kick  up  a  row  about  it  with  those  four  legs  down  below.  Then 
what  a  confusion  worse  confounded  would  be  when  a  flea  got  on  one 
of  those  four  legs,  and  four  hands  went  down  to  hunt  him  up, 
amongst  all  those  troubles,  and  wanting  to  scratch,  etc.,  etc.  The 
situation  is  too  much  for  us,  we  succumb. 


206  1'OKTRY  AND   I'ROSK  SELECTIONS 


All  the  Way  from  Chicago 


And  still  they  come.  This  time  it  is  directed  to  "Sec'y  Board 
<>t  Education,  Mayfield,  Cal."  Oh,  whatever  have  we  done  that 
we  should  be  taken  by  these  Easterners  for  a  whole  Municipal  Board 
with  an  electrical  plant  and  water-works  thrown  in?  If  it  wasn't 
that  Leap  Year  is  so  close  at  hand,  we  verily  would  go  off  and  drown 
ourself — in  one  of  Pucker's  vats.  Life  is  getting  unbearable.  This 
new  communication  comes  from  Chicago,  and  starts  out  with: 
"Thinking  that  you  might  be  in  need  of  something  in  the  way  of 
furniture  and  apparatus,  we,"  etc.  No,  sir;  dam  it,  we  want  noth 
ing.  Just  because  we  have  recently  set  up  bachelor's  hall  here,  do 
you  think  we  want  your  old  furniture  and  school  benches  to  sit  on? 
And  must  we  be  insulted  in  this  way,  as  though  we  were  really 
"in  need  of  something?"  What  is  it,  you  old  bloke?  May  be  you 
know  better  than  we  do  ourself  what  we  want.  Just  go  and  drown 
yourself  in  your  big  lake,  and  let  us  alone. 

Another  thing  this  fellow  wants  to  impose  upon  us  is  a  "Ken 
dall's  Lunar  Telluric  Globe."  Oh,  Kendall!  are  we  such  a  Tellur 
ic  Lunatic  as  to  have  use  for  such  a  thing?  But  now  comes  the 
sweet  consolation,  the  balm  of  Gilead.  Our  wounded  soul  is  healed 
instanter  and  made  whole.  Here  is  the  soothing  syrup:  "On  all 
school  furniture  except  teachers'  desks,  50  per  cent  off  the  list  price." 
Oh!  now;  why  weren't  we  born  or  made  a  School  Trustee!  What 
lost  opportunities  are  here  disclosed!  Fifty  per  cent  profit  on  all 
purchases  we  should  make,  except  on  teachers'  desks,  and  as  they 
generally  have  to  furnish  their  own  desks,  what  difference  does  this 
little  exception  make?  Oh,  lack-a-day!  how  we  had  always  been 
so  innocently  presuming  that  school  trustees  were  working  for  pub 
lic  weal  only,  and  here  it  is  for  private  veal,  instead.  But,  sir,  Mr. 
Universal  School  Supplier,  you  have  made  a  slight  mistake  in  the 
town,  don't  you?  You  certainly  couldn't  have  intended  it  for  May- 
field.  San  Jose  is  the  place  you  want.  Direct  to  "The  Board  of 
Education,  care  of  Jim  Rea,  San  Jose,"  and  blooming  right  you'll  be. 


—"The  San  Mateo  County  Journal  has  entered  on  volume 
four.  The  Journal  is  a  bright,  newsy,  and  interesting  paper. 
Continued  success,  Bro.  Rowley." — San  Benito  Advance. 


RIDGWAY  GEORGE  ROWLEY  207 


Our  Figure  Head 


The  engraving  at  the  head  of  the  Journal  is  believed  to  be  a 
great  improvement  upon  the  old  spread-eagle  figure  which  constant 
ly  meets  our  eye.  The  Great  American  Bird  has  been  too  long 
soaring  through  infinite  space,  in  an  aimless,  speculative  way.  His 
restless,  untiring  wings,  have  fanned  the  upper  ether  from  Alaska 
to  Central  America — from  Cuba  to  the  Sandwich  Islands — in  a  con 
stant  round  of  flight.  It  is  time  the  Bird  of  Freedom  changed  his 
habits,  quit  his  soaring,  and  alighted  with  his  foot  upon  his  own 
sufficient  soil,  there  to  become  domesticated — domiciled — looking 
after  his  own  and  his  home. 

This  is  the  idea  carried  out  in  our  new  cut.  The  National  Bird 
is  here  quite  content  to  rest  from  its  long  flight,  and  near  its  nest, 
to  look  after  its  home  interests — its  uneasy,  crying,  hungry  young 
lings,  the  great,  dissatisfied  American  People. 


"Equal  and  Just" 


We  have  read,  with  considerable  curiosity,  as  well  as  interest, 
the  communications  to  a  local  paper,  of  a  Deputy  Assessor  of  this 
County,  while  at  work  in  the  field.  His  vivid  description  of  at 
tempting  to  reach  a  cabin  in  the  mountains,  for  the  purpose  of  as 
sessing  its  sole  occupant,  by  climbing  almost  inaccessible  ridges, 
then  lowering  himself  and  mule,  or  rather  the  mule  and  himself, 
down  nearly  perpendicular  precipices,  by  means  of  a  rope  fastened 
to  trees,  in  order  to  reach  the  goal  of  his  ambition,  the  aforesaid  cab 
in  ;  which  he  succinctly  describes  as  being  seven  by  nine,  with  slap 
jacks  for  supper — a  three  foot  bunk  for  two  to  sleep  in  at  night — 
with  the  irrepressible  slap-jack  for  breakfast  in  the  morning — 
makes  an  imposing  spectacle  of  how  much  a  faithful  public  servant 
is  willing  to  do  and  dare  in  his  efforts  to  serve  the  people. 

While  reading  the  article  we  were  secretly  compelled  to  admire 
the  intrepid  spirit  which  would,  for  the  dear  people's  sake,  storm 
mountain  fortresses,  scale  buttresses  of  everlasting  rock;  climb  first 
toward  the  stars,  then  descend  to  the  unknown  depths  of  bottom 
less  pits — in  order  that  the  Assessment  Roll  of  the  County  shall  be 
"equal  and  just." 

But  while  absorbed  in  contemplation    of  the  sublime  moral  as 


208  POKTRY  AM)   PKOSK  SKl.KCTloNS 


well  as  physical  aspect  presented  us  here,  in  spite  of  oursill".  our 
mind  would  wander  toward  the  many  elegant  villas  and  palatial 
residences  that  adorn  our  fair  oak  vales;  with  their  enchanting 
serpentine  carriage  drives,  winding  through  an  Kden  of  landscape 
and  horticultural  beauty;  adorned  with  all  the  costly  ornament >  of 
art,  as  well  as  with  the  quieter  and  sublimer  ones  of  Nature — we  say 
we  were  compelled  to  stop  and  consider  whether  the  poor  man  up 
yonder  in  his  little  mountain  hut,  with  his  narrow  crib,  and  morn 
ing  slap-jacks,  really  believes  the  assessment  of  the  County  is 
"equal  and  just":  while  he  wonders  why  it  is  that  mules  and  ropes 
should  be  used  to  reach  him  in  his  secluded  home — wherein  he  is 
probably  compelled,  by  poverty  and  misery,  to  banish  himself 
from  the  world  and  society,  and  all  their  comforts  and  luxuries — in 
order  that  he  may  be  assessed  upon  a  few  paltry  dollars'  worth  of 
property,  while  the  broad  level  roads  leading  to  the  gorgeous  homes 
of  millionaires,  are  so  easily  traversed,  so  easily  reached,  with  thous 
ands  and  tens  of  thousands  of  dollars  of  assessable  property  lying  on 
every  hand,  "unknelled"  by  the  Deputy,  and  almost  "unknown" 
to  his  books. 

Journal  Mites  and  Palo  Alto  Items 

—Boys!  Boys!  out  there  at  the  University.  "Once  a  man,  al 
ways  a  boy."  But  let  us  have  the  "once  a  man"  come  about  now, 
and  the  "always  a  boy"  some  other  time.  This  is  hardly  the  prop 
er  time  for  the  "always"  business. 

— R.  G.  Rowley,  a  newspaper  veteran,  has  assumed  the  editorial 
control  of  the  Palo  Alto.  The  marks  of  his  facile  pen  are  visible  in 
the  well-filled  columns  of  the  University  journal.  We  extend  the 
right  hand  of  fellowship,  and  welcome  to  the  lists  another  earnest 
worker  in  a  small  but  most  promising  field  of  journalism. — Redwood 
City  Democrat. 

—Master  Tommy  Moore  of  Alpiw  was  recently  tin-  recipient 
of  a  fine  donkey  at  the  hands  of  Tax  Collector  Pitcher  of  Redwood,  a 
good  friend  of  Tommy's.  The  donkey  now  rejoice-  in  the  -oul.ri- 
quet  of  "Little  Pitcher."  When  Tommy  was  challenged  as  to  his 
good  taste  in  naming  M»  diminutive  an  animal  alter  M>  big  a  man  as 
the  donor,  hi-  .tn-\\tr  \\a-.  "(Mi,  it  ain't  that  \\ayat  all;  mamma 
is  always  telling  me  that  little  pitcher-  have  l.iu  ears,'  and  ju-1  look 
at  h  " 


RIDGWAY  GEORGE  ROWLEY  209 

An  Impressive  Power 


The  names  drawn  in  San  Mateo  county  for  the  Grand  Jury 
show  a  more  than  usually  strong  force.  This  august  tribunal 
should  always  consist  of  a  county's  best  and  most  intelligent  citi 
zens.  Grand  Juries  may  now  well  be  called  the  palladium  of 
American  liberty.  The  hopes  of  the  people  are  more  and  more 
becoming  centered  in  this  formidable  legal  body.  This  shows  that, 
despite  all  our  broad  ideas  of  freedom  and  liberty,  we  are  well  aware 
that  constituted  power  and  authority  are  essential  to  preserve  these 
great  privileges,  and  that  when  that  power  is  almost  complete  in 
its  plentitude,  then  evil-doers  stand  in  most  wholesome  awe. 

The  Grand  Jury  system  should  never  be  abolished.  It  is  now 
the  one  power  in  the  Republic  that  is  fully  respected ;  and  it  is  be 
cause  of  the  sceptre  it  holds  that  craven  hearts  and  evil  minds  dread 
it,  and  would  connive  at  its  destruction.  Good  citizens  have  noth 
ing  to  fear  from  Grand  Juries.  It  is  the  terror  only  of  bad  citizens. 
Petit  Juries  are  far  more  liable  to  err,  and  do  mischief  by  their 
errors  than  Grand  Juries.  It  has  seldom  or  never  been  recorded  of 
a  Grand  Jury  that  it  abused  the  office  or  committed  the  follies  that 
Petit  Juries  are  continually  doing. 

The  respect  which  Grand  Juries  ever  command  amongst  the 
body  of  citizens  of  itself  augurs  well  in  its  favor.  It  is  getting  too 
trite  a  saying,  too  much  of  an  altruism,  that  Americans  have  re 
spect  for  nothing,  for  nobody;  ''neither  on  earth,  nor  in  the  heavens 
above,  nor  deep  down  under  the  sea."  The  secret,  silent  power  of 
this  august  tribunal  does  enforce  a  wholesome  fear,  does  command 
a  dutiful  respect,  does  control  the  highest  places  in  the  land  which 
otherwise  could  not  be  controlled.  And  the  general  effect  of  the 
Grand  Jury  system,  aside  from  any  direct  manifestation  of  power  or 
exercise  of  authority,  is  wholesome  and  salutary,  and  no  American 
freeman,  true  to  the  constitution  and  laws  of  his  native  land,  with 
the  well  being  of  that  country  at  heart,  would  ever  desire  to  destroy, 
or  even  lessen,  the  majesty  and  authority,  though  it  be  kingly  in 
its  prerogatives,  of  the  American  Grand  Jury. 


"The  San  Mateo  Journal  is  one  of  the  neatest  and  cleanest 
printed  papers  in  California.  We  admire  a  good  looking  paper,  and 
the  Journal  comes  nearest  the  mark.  No  taffy." — San  Jose  Pioneer. 


210  POETRY  AM)  PK<  ^1    SE1  ECTIQNS 


Journal  Mites  and  Palo  Alto  Items. 

—Parties  were  in  town  last  week  prospecting  the  advantages 
of  Redwood  for  a  cotton  mill.  A  splendid  place  for  the  thing; 
plenty  of  wood,  water,  boys  and  girls.  The  town  ought  to  be  well 
able  to  encourage  one  cotton  mill,  seeing  how  well  it  supports  some 
two  dozen  gin  mills. 

—Willie  Jung,  a  Mountain  View  youth,  rested  the  muzzle  of 
his  gun  on  his  toe  for  a  moment  one  day  last  week,  and  two  other 
toes  sympathized  with  the  idea  so  well  that  Willie  can  now  carry 
all  three  of  them  in  his  pocket  in  place  of  a  bunch  of  cigarettes,  if 
he  desires. 

—There  is  a  very  serious  truth  involved  in  the  statement,  that 
when  a  man  gets  mad  about  what  a  newspaper  says  of  him,  the  same 
gentleman  should  be  duly  and  truly  thankful  to  that  paper  for  what 
it  knows  about  him  and  does  not  repeat.  It  would  many  times  off 
set  the  score  of  the  little  said  that  vexed  him,  and  leave  a  large 
balance  in  the  paper's  favor. 

—It  was  a  Palo  Alto  publication  day  when  Burt  (it  was  Bertie 
only  a  year  ago,and  now  it's  Burt  with  a  big  B )  came  running  breath 
lessly  into  the  office,  exclaiming:  "You  have  left  me  out  of  the 
paper!"  "How  is  that?"  replied  the  mild-eyed  Editor.  "Why,  my 
baby,  you  know — it  was  a  girl  and  weighed  11  pounds,"  was  the 
response.  "Great  Scott!"  answered  the  now  interested  chief.  "Bring 
it  in,  quick,  and  we'll  open  the  forms  and  put  it  in  the  last  edition." 
Then,  with  a  question  whether  the  sex  was  satisfactory,  and  if  a 
boy  wouldn't  have  suited  better,  Burt  turned  on  his  heel  and  said 
he'd  "see  us  later  about  that."  Whatever  he  meant,  wewondei. 
Now  this  is  a  good  specimen  of  how  a  poor  country  Editor  is  sup 
posed  to  be  everywhere  and  see  everything  that  happens,  it  In-  gets 
any  news.  This  was  the  first  we  had  heard  about  that  baby.  Of 
course,  it  was  only  natural  for  the  young  papa  to  imagine'  that  tin- 
whole  county  ought  to  have  known  of  its  arrival.  May  In-  tin  -y  had, 
but  we  are  not  up  to  this  sort  of  thing,  and  so  were  in  ignorance. 
The  baby  is  all  right,  however,  and  is  just  a  buster.  Burt  has 
bought  a  two-quart  fruit  can  for  a  nursing  bottle.  He  is  in  a  little 
d<mbt  about  the  mouth  fit  I  ing.  but  thinks  it'll  come  all  right.  Ver 
ily,  the  responsibilities  of  life  are  great.  See  the 
in  this  issue  for  the  rest  ot  the  storv. 


RIDGWAY  GEORGE  ROWLEY  211 


Words  of  Wisdom 


There  are  a  few  of  the  people's  maxims  or  proverbs  so  true  and 
consistent  with  human  nature  as  to  make  them  a  rule  of  human  con 
duct  so  general  that  the  exceptions  prove  nothing.  The  sayings, 
"Familiarity  begets  contempt,"  "A  man  is  never  great  to  his  valet," 
etc.,  are  the  particular  ones  alluded  to  now.  But  when  an  excep 
tion  does  arise  to  a  great  general  rule,  it  is  of  such  a  peculiar  and  un 
expected  a  nature,  so  marked  and  characterized,  that  it  is  recognized 
at  once  as  a  proposition  worthy  of  being  placed  alongside  of  the 
parent  stock,  a  child  well  worthy  of  its  origin. 

This  line  of  thought  is  suggested  to  us  by  a  careful  perusal — 
no,  we  must  say  a  study,  because  the  subject  is  too  deep  to  be  mere 
ly  perused,  it  must  be  studied  to  be  fully  appreciated — of  the  ad 
dress  of  Senator  Stanford,  delivered  at  Palo  Alto  on  the  Opening 
Day  of  the  University,  and  which  is  given  in  full  in  this  issue,  and 
of  which  the  Monitor  says :  "We  were  particularly  impressed  with 
the  remarks  delivered  by  Governor  Stanford;  there  is  a  world  of 
meaning  in  every  sentence,  more,  in  fact,  than  the  outside  mind  can 
comprehend." 

Mr.  Stanford  has  been  so  long  and  intimately  known  about  Pa 
lo  Alto  and  Mayfield  as  to  be  appreciated  hereabouts  only  as  a  resi 
dent  millionaire,  a  Senator  of  late  years,  it  is  true,  but  a  man  whose 
chief  occupation  was  with  millions  rather  than  with  ideas  and 
thoughts.  That  this  is  the  grand  mistake  and  grievous  misconcep 
tion  of  our  people,  which  can  be  traced  to  no  more  worthy  a  source 
than  to  the  reflective  sentiment  conveyed  by  the  mean  adages  above 
quoted,  is  to-day  all  too  apparent  by  thesubstantialism,  thereflective 
thought,  and,  we  may  well  add,  the  profound  wisdom  exhibited  in 
the  founder's  address  to  the  faculty  and  students  of  his  University. 
This  production  will  bear  the  closest  scrutiny  and  criticism  of  all 
scholars,  and  even  of  teachers  of  philosophy.  Like  some  of  Lin 
coln's  famous  solid  chunks  of  wisdom,  which  now  stand  as  the  phil 
osophic  maxims  of  the  people,  so  will  these  Stanfordian  sentences 
be  some  time  recognized  at  their  full  worth. 

It  may  be  urged  by  cynics  that  they  have  no  originality  about 
them,  that  they  only  express  ideas  that  all  consent  readily  to.  Ad 
mitted,  but  it  is  just  in  this  power  of  expression  that  lies  the  gift  of 
genius.  "There  is  nothing  new  under  the  sun."  The  stronger  the 


212  TOKTRY  AND  PR(  )SK  SKLECTIONS 


thought  comes  home  to  the  listening  mind,  as  the  embodied  spirit 
of  a  grand  idea,  familiar  as  that  idea  may  be  to  all  of  us,  so  much 
the  greater  is  the  mind  that  gives  expression  to  the  conception  in  a 
manner  that  rings  and  tingles  through  the  whole  mentality.  This  is 
the  worthy  occupation  of  ability.  Ideas  were  born  long  before  men ; 
their  creator  will  have  to  be  hunted  for  in  the  far  past  of  the  uni 
verse.  It  is  only  left  for  man  to  cull  them  from  the  great  shores 
of  the  ocean  of  truth,  and  set  the  precious  stones  in  a  diadem,  that 
princes  should  not  scorn  to  wear,  because,  foresooth,  they  were  not 
made  at  the  hands  of  him  who  would  place  them  on  the  kingly  brow. 

And  why  should  we  not  always  have  thought  of  him  thus? 
Is  not  the  final  evidence,  by  the  establishment  of  this  great  scheme 
of  the  Stanford  University,  sufficient  cause  for  such  consideration 
in  the  past?  The  germ  must  then  have  existed  or  it  would  never 
have  developed  now  into  Palo  Alto.  Let  every  reader  study  the 
address,  and  consider  it  well.  And  in  this  connection  let  no  one 
fail  to  become  impressed  with  the  all  importance  to  himself  and  to 
his  interests  in  this  section  of  country,  as  well  as  to  the  great  future 
general  good  of  all,  of  the  following  words  of  the  Senator,  as  there 
in  found:  "We  have  decided  to  start  this  institution  with  the  col 
lege  course  of  study,  beginning  with  the  freshman  year.  In  time 
we  hope  to  extend  its  scope  from  the  kindergarten  through  the  high 
school  to  the  university  course,  and  afford  opportunities  for  improve 
ment  and  investigation  to  post-graduates  and  specialists." 

The  pregnant  thought  involved  in  these  few  words  is,  like  much 
other  in  the  address,  so  condensed  as  to  be  fully  understood  and 
realized  only  after  extensive  study  and  elucidation.  We  shall  have 
much  to  say  in  the  future  concerning  the  ideas  necessarily  involved 
in  this  open  declaration  of  the  founder's  plan,  and  will  make  it 
many  times  a  text  for  a  Palo  Alto  homily.  It  is  the  bed-rock  on 
which  the  Stanford  University  is  being  built,  and  which  will  sus 
tain  a  structure  that  time  shall  not  injure,  much  less  man's  petty 
jealousy  or  envy  destroy. 


"The   Redwood   City  Journal  entered   iijxm  a  new  volume 
last  week.      Br<>.   Rowley  publishes  one  of  the  IK-SI   papers  issued 
of  San  Francisco." — Watsonville  Pajoranian,  May  \2th. 


RIDGWAY  GEORGE  ROWLEY  213 

Impeachment 


(Extracts  from  speech  of  R.  G.  Rowley,  delivered  as  an  opening  statement  of 
prosecuting  counsel,  in  the  "Miniature  Senate  of  the  United  States,"  sitting  in 
the  rooms  of  the  "Young  Men's  Christian  Association,"  San  Francisco,  April 
16th,  1867,  as  a  High  Court  of  Impeachment  for  the  Trial  of  Andrew  Johnson, 
President,  etc. ) 

"Give  him  trial  just  and  grand, 
Worthy  of  our  race  and  land; 
Yet,  stript  of  power,  let  him  stand, 
But  to  obey — not  command. 

"Read  his  words  to  true  hearts  given; 
Read  his  oaths  up- writ  in  heaven; 
Scan  his  deeds  in  blood  engraven — 
Deeds  of  demagogue  and  craven. 

"Let  the  people's  shame  and  hate 
For  his  doom  no  longer  wait; 
Deal  him  quick  the  tyrant's  fate — 
Tear  him  from  the  chair  of  State!" 

While  the  terrible  and  bloody  rebellion  of  slavery  stands  linked 
heart  to  heart,  and  joined  hand  to  hand  with  that  other  great  act 
of  infamy  and  dishonor,  the  assassination  of  a  President,  we  are 
now  compelled  to  form  a  trio  of  national  sufferings  and  disasters,  by 
adding  a  third,  and,  under  the  mercy  of  Providence,  may  it  be  the 
last,  the  impeachment  and  dismissal  from  office  of  a  living  President. 

I  do  not  say  these  things  to  deter  us  from  our  duties,  or  cause 
us  to  falter  or  hesitate  in  their  perlormance,  but  rather  to  quicken 
our  perceptions  of  them,  and  to  nerve  us  for  the  commission  of  an 
act,  which,  though  we  may  feel  reluctant  and  unwilling  to  per  form, 
yet,  with  stern  duty  and  the  country's  honor  staring  us  in  the  face, 
with  the  boldness  and  fearlessness  of  freemen,  with  the  power  and 
honor  and  self-respect  of  a  Senate  of  the  great  American  people,  we 
must  perform,  and  which,  under  Divine  guidance  and  assistance,  we 
will  perform. 

Then,  dealing  firmly  but  justly  with  this  issue,  let  us  declare 
to  the  world  that  the  freedom  and  power  of  this  nation  is  such, 
that  even  a  President  who  would  throw  himself  beneath  the  rolling 
wheels  of  its  chariot  of  progress,  shall  not  stay  its  course  but  shall 


214  POKTRY  AND   PROSK  SKUX  TIONS 


be  crushed  into  dust.  Never  was  the  supremacy  of  the  people  of 
this  government  so  well  asserted  and  established  as  now.  At  no  t  inn 
hitherto  in  our  history  have  circumstances  called  into  existence  an 
occasion  for  the  use  of  the  red  right  hand  of  power,  and  the  flaming 
sword  of  the  wrath  of  this  People.  That  the  people  of  these  United 
States  are  but  mere  auxiliaries  to  help  do  the  great  work,  has  just 
been  proclaimed  in  a  "voice  as  of  many  thunders."  That  the  peo 
ple  are  the  Government,  and  that  the  President  is  but  a  servant  un 
der  them,  who  must  and  shall  do  their  will,  is  now  about  to  be  pro 
claimed  in  a  manner  equally  significant.  *  *  * 

The  issue  before  us  is  not  one  concerning  men  alone,  but  rather 
one  of  principles  and  ideas.  We  are  not  assembled  here  clothed 
with  all  the  majesty  and  authority  of  the  highest  court  or  tribunal 
of  justice  in  the  nation,  merely  to  try  Andrew  Johnson  as  President 
of  the  United  States,  and  remove  him  from  office  by  reason  of  certain 
crimes  and  misdemeanors  committed,  but  we  are  here,  rather, 
to  assert  and  establish  the  broad  principle  that  no  man  or  body  of 
men,  be  he  or  they  a  President,  a  Cabinet,  a  Supreme  Court  or  a 
Congress,  shall  thwart  the  expressed  will  of  their  masters,  the  people, 
or  place  obstacles  in  the  way  to  obstruct  their  onward  progress; 
but  like  chaff  from  the  threshing  floor  they  shall  be  swept  to  the 
winds,  and  man  after  man  chosen  to  fill  their  places,  until  all  shall 
come  to  know  that  the  Government  of  America  is  truly  a  Govern 
ment  of  the  people,  and  that  neither  the  conceit  of  office  nor  the 
pride  of  power  can  saddle  their  privileges  or  ride  high-handed  over 
their  rights! 

Senators,  let  us  be  in  earnest!  It  becomes  us  to  be  true  to  these 
great  principles,  these  foundation  stones  upon  which  is  reared  this 
noble  temple  of  liberty,  built  by  the  hands  of  man,  but  consecrated 
by  Divinity  itself.  Should  we  at  tempt  tot  urn  away  from  our  duty 
or  flinch  in  its  l>ot  performance,  the  great  spirit  ot  Ireedoin.  justice 
and  equality,  which  now  prevails  in  this  land,  and  lills  the  heart  of 
its  people,  would  come  flitting  into  the  windows  of  t  \\\^  Si  nate  1  lall, 
and,  like  the  raven  of  old.  >h  perelnd  alm\i-  our  door,  crying  con 
tinuously  in  our  ears,  "  Ye  shall  In-  St-nutors,  nevermore!  nevermore!" 

We  an-  hen-  to  exprett  our  determination  that  ihe  -pirit  which 
p(  rv.ided  u>  through  lour  years  of  civil  strife  still  lives  and  shall  lie 
perpetuated.  And  that ,  as  the  benefit  sand  results  of  this  madman's 
war.  during  which  the  noblest  lives  of  the  land  were  sacrificed,  and 


RIDGWAY  GEORGE  ROWLEY  215 


the  best  blood  poured  out,  a  willing  libation  upon  the  altar  of  their 
country's  devotion,  now  hang  clustering  thick  about  the  loins  of 
our  liberty-loving  goddess,  so  the  fruits  of  those  victories  and  the 
triumphs  of  that  conquest  shall  not  slip  from  her  grasp  as  long  as 
Americans  can  wield  the  steel  for  her  sake  and  in  her  cause! 

And  so  are  we  here  to  declare  that  those  bright  buds  of  prom 
ise,  the  growth  of  over  eighteen  hundred  years  of  Christian  civiliza 
tion,  which  are  so  deeply  engrafted  upon  the  free  institutions  of 
this  Republic,  shall  be  nourished,  and  that  the  tree  shall  live,  and 
those  buds  shall  blossom,  and,  in  God's  own  good  time,  shall  de 
velop  into  the  perfect  fruit,  of  which  all  the  nations  of  the  world 
shall  eat  and  call  it  good.  We  are  here  to  meet  the  issue  whether 
the  principles  upon  which  this  Government  was  founded  shall 
stand,  and  whether  the  sovereignty  of  the  people  shall  remain,  or 
whether  we  shall  fall  back  upon  the  doctrines  and  teachings  of 
aristocrats  and  kings,  while  State  and  individual  sovereignty  as 
sumes  that  of  the  people.  We  cannot  afford  to  do  the  latter. 
The  age  is  notoriously  one  of  progression.  Even  states  of  barbaric 
and  semi-civilized  power  are  steadily  advancing  from  out  the  shad 
ow  of  their  night  into  the  broad  full  day  of  the  sun-light  of  progress! 
And  shall  we,  who  have  trod  so  long  in  this  bright  and  shining  path, 
lit  up  by  whole  constellations  of  brilliant  thoughts  and  deeds,  until 
our  course  is  marked  as  vividly  upon  the  zenith  of  national  skies 
as  is  the  milky-way  upon  the  sky  of  nature,  turn  aside  into  the  blue 
and  black  of  a  lower  firmament?  Around  the  circling  orbit  of  the 
earth,  Liberty,  the  bright-eyed  goddess,  flies,  in  advance  of  the  na 
tions,  directing  the  way,  and  ever  looking  back  tenderly  and  coax- 
ingly,  urging  us  to  follow;  and  now  who  so  recreant  to  the  great 
trust  placed  in  him  as  to  turn  away  from  her  and  say  "depart,  I 
know  ye  not?"  In  every  land  Freedom  is  creating  a  commotion, 
and  in  none  more  than  in  our  own  has  that  constant  endeavor  creat 
ed  a  greater  or  more  beneficial  effect :  here  we  find  her  enemies  com 
pletely  routed,  and  over  the  broad  and  fair  extent  of  our  domain 
lives  not  a  man  who  can  now  call  himself  a  slave.  In  the  regions  where 
the  cold  north-winds  blow,  in  the  south  where  the  warm  sun-beams 
shine,  in  the  east  where  the  chariot  of  morn  first  comes  with  steeds 
of  fiery  light,  even  to  the  golden  west  where  slow  sinks  the  orb  of 
day  in  the  bosom  of  the  great  deep,  everywhere,  consternation  and 
confusion  sit  deep  upon  the  faces  of  the  enemies  of  liberty — their 


216  POKTRY   AM)   PROSK  SKI.KCTIONS 


banners  are  trailing  low  in  the  dust — their  idols  arc  fallen,  and  we 
are  here  to  sacrifice  the  last  of  their  gods!  Let  us  heap  upon  hi> 
head,  rather  than  lay  at  his  feet,  the  burnt  offerings  of  the  people, 
and  then  in  a  whirlwind,  not  of  wrath,  but  of  justice  tempered  by 
mercy,  scatter  them  again,  that  the  poor  object  may  go  forth  free 
and  unharmed,  but  harmless,  an  example  to  all  coming  generations 
that  a  President  of  this  Republic  is  but  a  subject,  while  the  people 
isthetowg/  *  *  * 

I  said  I  would  give  an  unvarnished  rehearsal  of  the  facts  upon 
which  are  based  these  articles  of  Impeachment.  I  would  I  were  at 
liberty  to  varnish  them  over,  that  I  might  so  cover  up  and  conceal 
from  the  eyes  of  the  world  their  hideousness  and  deformity,  and  thus 
protect  the  good  name  and  honor  of  the  American  nation.  It  is 
now  an  old  timed  remark  made  of  a  great  European  empire,  but 
which,  happily,  at  the  present  day,  has  little  or  no  application,  that, 
"the  government  of  Russia  is  a  despotism  tempered  only  by  assas 
sination."  And  it  is  now  a  painful  truth  which  I  utter,  as  an  Ameri 
can  citizen,  and  as  a  Senator  standing  upon  the  floor  of  the  Ameri 
can  Capitol,  when  I  say,  as  I  do  now,  that  "the  American  Govern 
ment  has,  during  the  present  administration,  degenerated  to  a 
despotism  tempered  only  by  impeachment." 

But  it  is  a  source  of  supreme  consolation  to  all  of  us  to  know 
that  which  is  a  most  pertinent  truth  as  well  as  a  matter  of  history, 
that  Andrew  Johnson  was  not  called  to  his  present  position  hy  (lie 
suffrages  of  this  people.  This  trutli  is  pregnant  with  meaning  when 
applied  to  the  present  subject  of  impeachment.  Americans  will 
not  then  stand,  having  stultified  their  own  election  of  chief  execu 
tive  officer,  nor  will  their  good  judgment  have  Miflcnd  or  been  at 
fault.  There  is  no  doubt  that  Andrew  Johnson,  at  tin  time  he  was 
elected  to  the  office  of  Vice-Presidency,  would  have  been  almost 
the  last  man  selected  by  the  people  for  the  Presidency.  In  this 
respect,  then,  their  judgment  now  stands  thrice  affirmed.  It  was 
only  by  a  bloody  accident  that  Andn  \\  Johnson  became  elex.itid 
to  the  mo>t  roponsible  office  in  the  nation;  and  with  what  fear 
and  trembling  did  we  not  see  him  advance  to  a  seat  in  the  Pit  -i 
dential  chair? — a  seat  yet  warm  with  the  dripping  life  blood  of  hi- 
noble  predecessor  a  seat  that  had  become  almost  sanctified  and 
made  holy  in  the  hearts  of  the  people  through  the  virtue^  and  serene 
wisdom  of  him  who  had  just  been  called  from  it  to  a  higher  seat  at 


RIDGWAY  GEORGE  ROWLEY  217 


the  feet  of  One  whom  he  loved  to  serve!  With  what  anxiety  did 
we  not  turn  toward  the  new-made  President  to  catch  the  first  utter 
ance  of  power  which  fell  from  his  lips?  And  how,  having  heard  it 
did  we  not  turn  toward  each  other  for  an  interpretation  of  our  doubts 
knowing  not  what  meaning  to  place  upon  his  words,  yet  fondly 
trusting  in  that  meaning,  hoping,  and  believing,  until  conviction 
forced  back  hope  and  belief?  And  how  we  still  clung  to  him  and 
around  him  when  all  hope  and  belief  were  gone,  and  endeavored  to 
deceive  ourselves  into  a  false  trust  and  confidence — for  was  he  not 
our  President?  and  was  not  the  sun-burst  which  streamed  out  its 
rays  of  glory  from  the  high  place  where  he  sat,  sufficient  to  dazzle 
the  eyes  of  an  innocent  and  unsuspecting  people?  Truly,  who  shall 
now  say  that  the  reverence  of  Americans  for  their  President  is  not 
great?  and  that  the  dignity  and  calling  of  his  office  did  not  command 
their  respect,  and  did  not  long  shield  the  President,  Andrew  John 
son,  when  the  man  Andrew  Johnson  had  been,  erstwhile,  swept  out 
of  public  opinion  and  respect  into  the  mire  of  infamy  and  shame? 
But  there  is  a  point  at  which  the  endurance  of  a  patient  people  end- 
eth,  and  when  further  forbearance  on  their  part  ceases  to  be  a  virtue. 
That  point  is  now  reached,  and  we  are  commanded  to  do  our  duty, 
and  our  whole  duty,  toward  the  President  Johnson,  to  the  man 
Johnson,  and  to  the  country.  *  *  *  We  propose  to  prove  to 
you  that  the  speech  of  Andrew  Johnson  made  on  the  22d  of  Feb 
ruary,  1866,  in  the  city  of  Washington,  has  no  parallel  in  the  his 
tory  of  public  oratory  except,  perhaps,  other  speeches  coming  from 
the  same  source.  We  recognize  in  it  immediately  the  lowness  and 
impurity  of  its  source.  Like  the  fabled  river  Styx,  it  rose  out  of 
Chaos,  flowed  through  the  regions  of  darkness  and  evil,  while  only 
demons,  with  features  distorted  to  a  horrid  grin,  could  be  seen  by 
the  lurid  glow  of  its  sulphurous  light  dancing  in  devils'  glee  upon 
its  borders,  or  paddling  their  canoe  in  its  reeking,  murky  waters. 
Its  foul  stench  overcomes  the  nostrils.  We  look  upon  its  flow, 
and  see  in  its  eddying,  whirling  tide  of  foul  disorder  and  corruption, 
many  whirlpools,  upon  the  brink  of  whose  engulphing  vortex  floats, 
tremblingly,  a  Nation's  pride  and  honor.  We  see,  tossed  along  by 
its  current,  drift-wood  of  lost  virtue  and  abandoned  principle.  We 
see,  passing  down  to  swift  destruction,  a  noble  ship  of  State,  a  ship 
which  has  many  a  time  weathered  the  storm  of  a  wider  water  and  a 
more  tempestuous  sea:  but  here,  shut  in  between  these  narrow 


21s  I'OKTRY  AM)   I'ROSK  SKUXTIONS 


rocks,  the  angry  stream  would  seem  to  dash  her  to  pieces  and  de 
stroy  her.  We  can  see,  tossed  upon  its  turbid  bosom,  the  washed 
away  homes  of  freedmen;  floating  on  to  death  and  ruin  their  little 
cabins  go,  while  dark  faces  stand  peering  out  the  opened  doorway 
uix>n  those  ruthless,  rushing  waters,  and  dark  hands  are  wrung  in 
agony,  imploring  assistance,  while  he,  who  had  promised  to  be  their 
Moses,  and  who  had  power  to  turn  each  floating  bed  of  reeds  into 
an  ark  of  salvation,  sits  like  a  grim  and  sullen  Pluto  upon  the  shore, 
and  nods  at  their  destruction. 

We  will  find  in  this,  and  other  speeches  of  Andrew  Johnson,  the 
fury  of  conceit  lashed  into  a  foam  of  passion.  And  where  a  little 
ripple  was  formed  upon  the  waters  of  time  by  the  casting  in  of  a 
pebble,  a  mere  waif  of  human  intellect  and  ability,  we  see  it,  by  its 
own  mere  volition,  endeavoring  to  create  the  effect  and  purpose  of  a 
mighty  wave  of  intellectual  genius;  but,  mistaking  the  way,  form 
ing  itself  into  a  breaker  to  dash  headlong  upon  the  rocks  of  ruin. 

So,  as  we,  who  make  up  the  jolly  boats'  crew  of  the  old  ship 
of  State,  go  coasting  along  the  rocks  and  find  the  mangled  corpse 
of  this  man,  who,  not  being  born  great,  would  thrust  greatness  upon 
himself,  floating  and  dashing  upon  the  green  sea  wave,  let  us  take 
pity  upon  it,  and  out  of  a  decent  respect  for  the  opinion  of  our  own 
countrymen,  and  of  all  mankind,  let  us  carry  the  body  to  the  beach, 
and  there  with  our  hands  scoop  him  out  a  grave  in  the  sands,  and 
digging  it  deep  lay  him  therein,  and  with  his  arms  folded  upon  his 
heart  in  this  his  last  triumph,  and  with  the  cast-off  weeds  of  a 
Nation's  mourning  for  a  shroud,  we  will  cover  him  up  and  smooth 
well  over  the  spot  where  he  lies,  lest  the  vultures  of  history  scent 
the  dank  grave,  and  scratch  out  the  fetid  and  corrupting  body,  and 
leave  it  there  to  taint  the  air,  pollute  the  soil  and  make  the  toil  and 
trouble  of  a  Nation's  woe  double  in  its  misery!  Still  more,  if  we  have 
them  at  our  hands,  let  us  pile  upon  the  rotten  sands  above  his  grave 
the  rocks  of  oblivion,  so  that  each  passerby  may  C.IM  hi»tone  there 
at,  even  as  the  believers  of  the  east  do  at  the  tomb  of  Judas  IM  .tri<>i . 
until  the  pile  shall  grow  to  a  monument,  and  the  monument  t<>  a 
mountain,  thus  to  stand  for  ages  an  emblem  of  tin  civil  virtue  but 
stern  justice  of  this  people — while  he  who  would  at  tempi  to  Bav<  . 
or  mark  the  spot  by  sacred  cross  or  holy  sign,  let  him  seek  refuge 
from  the  just  wrath  of  an  outraged  people. 


RIDGWAY  GEORGE  ROWLEY  219 


Journal  Mites  and  Palo  Alto  Items. 


—There  is  a  man  wanted  in  the  East.  His  name  is  John  Jones, 
and  he  deserted  his  wife  and  baby  twenty  years  ago.  If  he  will  now 
return,  said  baby  promises  to  lick  the  stuffin'  out  of  him. 

—"For  every  created  man  there  is  a  created  woman  who  stands 
to  him,  and  him  alone,  as  the  only  true  wife  he  can  have  in  this  world 
or  any  other." — San  Josean. 

But  bless  us!  man  alive,  after  looking  this  wide  world  over  and 
over,  and  failing  to  recognize  her,  do  tell  a  poor  fellow,  quickly,  just 
how,  when  and  where  to  go  about  finding  her  in  that  "other  world" 
that  you  are  so  kind  as  to  mention. 

-"Happy  Harry"  has  resigned  his  commission  as  night  watch 
at  the  University  Dormitory  to  the  boys.  The  young  gentlemen 
can  just  sit  up  all  night  and  watch  themselves,  or  each  other,  or 
anybody  else  that  they  please,  for  all  he  cares.  He'd  rather  make  a 
sheep-herder  or  a  swine-herder,  or  any  other  kind  of  a  herder  than  a 
boy  herder.  Harry  is  evidently  not  so  "happy"  as  he  was  before 
he  undertook  to  watch  that  corral  of  bronchos. 

—A  fair  sample  of  the  reasonability  of  most  applicants  for  the 
reduction  of  assessment,  is  that  of  a  person  who,  on  Saturday  last 
filed  an  application  with  our  county  Board,  claiming  that  property 
assessed  to  him  at  $15,500,  was  only  fairly  worth  $13,000.  This 
was  sworn  to,  of  course.  But  when  the  Assessor  was  called  upon 
to  explain,  he  showed  how  the  applicant  had  looked  in  the  last 
year's  book  for  his  figures,  and  that  the  property  complained  of 
was  only  assessed  this  year  at  $12,495,  just  $5.00  less  than  the 
owner  had  sworn  it  was  worth.  But  when  this  was  pointed  out  to 
him  the  party  wasn't  any  better  satisfied.  He  wanted  it  reduced 
anyway,  on  general  principles.  Such  is  human  nature,  that  is, 
of  tax  payers. 

— R.  G.  Rowley,  who  in  former  years  was  the  editor  and  pub 
lisher  of  the  San  Mateo  county  Journal  of  Redwood  City,  has  as 
sumed  editorial  control  of  the  Mayfield  Palo  Alto.  Mr.  Rowley 
is  a  strong  and  vigorous  writer,  and  the  first  issue  of  the  Palo  Alto 
under  his  management  shows  a  marked  improvement  in  the  edit 
orial  columns. — San  Francisco  Evening  Post. 


220  POETRY  AND  PROSE  SELECTIONS 


Announcement 


Having  sold  the  Journal  to  S.  C.  Leahy,  all  proprietorship  and 
connection  therewith  on  the  part  of  the  undersigned  necessarily 
ceases  from  date. 

The  position  advanced  and  sustained  by  the  originator  of  the 
Journal,  during  its  continuance,  is  one  which,  under  the  peculiar  sit 
uation  of  the  parties,  and  of  county  affairs  as  well,  generally,  re 
quires  immense  vitality  and  strength  of  constitution,  as  well  as  the 
minor  considerations  of  length  of  purse  and  breadth  of  intellect,  to 
successfully  sustain  for  a  great  length  of  time.  The  proprietor  had 
become  conscious  of  failing  strength  in  at  least  one  of  these  respects, 
and  which  one  it  may  not  be  essential  here  to  particularize,  inas 
much  as  all  three  are  of  the  first  importance  in  a  contest  of  this  kind. 
In  consequence  the  undersigned  has  deemed  it  best  to  retire,  doing 
so,  as  he  flatters  himself,  with  as  good  a  grace  as  circumstances  will 
admit  of,  and  hoping  to  leave  the  Journal  in  the  hands  of  the  people 
to  be  supported  and  continued  by  them,  if  they  will  to  do  so. 

The  row  in  the  field  which  the  undersigned  intended  to  hoe  he 
has  found  to  be  a  more  difficult  one  than  he  at  first  anticipated,  so 
that  he  now  feels,  as  he  looks  on  his  work,  a  few  hills  hoed  and  a 
great  many  left  to  be  grubbed  about  yet  with  a  deal  of  hard  work, 
like  the  boy  with  his  cabbage  garden,  who,  either  too  tired  or  too 
lazy  to  proceed  farther  with  his  work  of  hoeing,  looked  at  the  long 
rows  of  uncultivated  cabbage  heads  before  him,  and  then  behind  at 
the  few  there  dressed  out,  and  philosophically  remarked  of  the 
situation:  "Mr.  Cabbages,  I  am  going  to  leave  you  to  go  hunting. 
Now  you  know  what  you  were  planted  for  and  what  is  expected  of 
you  just  as  well  as  I  can  tell  you,  and  if  you  don't  want  to  grow  any 
more,  that's  your  own  business.  I  don't  eat  cabbage,  anyway,  and 
if  you  can't  grow  without  my  digging  and  sweating  over  you  this 
'ere  way,  you  can  just  go  back  in  the  ground  if  you  want  to.  This 
is  the  old  man's  business  not  mine.  He  likes  sour  kraut  and  the 
old  woman  likes  cold-slaw,  and  between  the  two  they'd  eat  you  all 
anyway.  I  don't  get  a  cent  more  for  working  like  a  nigger  in  this 
hot  sun  and  I  just  ain't  going  to  do  it  any  longer.  So  good-by, 
cabbages."  Them's  our  scntinu-nt>,  as  far  as  we  have  got  any  just 
now,  or  are  able  to  express  them.  We  have  endeavored  hard  for 
some  time  past — after  having  been  fully  convinced  that  it  was  a 


RIDGWAY  GEORGE  ROWLEY  221 


duty  to  self,  strong  and  urgent,  to  retire  from  the  further  prosecu 
tion  of  the  herculean  task  before  us — to  place  the  Journal  in  hands 
where  it  would  not  be  suppressed  by  a  foe,  but  would  live  and  do 
good,  being  as  fully  convinced,  as  ever,  that  the  county  was  better 
off  with  two  papers  than  one.  We  believe  we  have  done  so;  hav 
ing  sold  only  under  promises  that  the  paper  should  live  and  be  run, 
if  possible.  Mr.  Leahy  is  a  printer  by  trade,  a  resident  of  the  coun 
ty  since  boyhood,  and  has  always  desired  to  run  a  newspaper  in 
this  county.  It  is  for  the  people  to  say  whether  they  will  support 
him  and  the  Journal,  or  whether  it  shall  die  out  and  perish  altogeth 
er.  With  its  future  course,  or  politics,  of  course  we  have  nothing 
to  do,  and  cannot  dictate  or  control  them. 

Thankful  for  the  many  kind  favors  conferred  on  us,  and  the 
good  support  given  the  Journal  by  numerous  friends,  and,  we  may 
well  say  and  ought  to  say,  by  the  people  of  the  county  generally,  we 
would  now  take  our  hasty  exit  from  public  view;  satisfied  to  be 
lieve  and  know  that  in  the  enjoyment  of  an  honorable  private  life, 
however  humble  that  may  be,  comes  a  far  greater  and  higher  source 
of  happiness,  to  some  men  at  least,  than  can  ever  be  derived  from 
the  most  exalted  public  places,  reached,  or  to  be  reached  only 
through  the  detestable  mire  and  degradation  and  corruption  of 
modern  American  politics.  For  them  we  have  a  just  horror,  and  a 
disgust  unutterable;  and  to  run  a  newspaper  in  this  county  of 
course  means  to  run  politics.  To  be  an  independent  American 
farmer  is  now  the  height  of  our  ambition,  and  we  retire  to  our  farm 
and  cows,  knowing  that  these  poor  brutes,  at  least,  will  fully  appre 
ciate  all  our  disinterested  labors  in  their  behalf.  Again  we  say  adieu, 
a  long  and  last  adieu.  R.  G.  ROWLEY. 


222  I'OI   IKY   AND   I'KOSK  SKI.KCTK  >.\S 


\  DARING  RESCUE 

Ridgway  Rowley  Saves  Three  Young  MenFrom  Otisco 

Lake 

Terrific  Gale  Blowing.      It  was  Night  and  Very  Dark. 

Ridgway  Rowley,  of  Cortland,  and  Daniel  DeBarof  Borodino, 
are  today  happy  in  the  thought  that  they  saved  three  young  men 
from  drowning  Saturday  night,  and  the  three  young  men  in  question 
are  exceedingly  grateful  to  their  rescuers,  for  they  had  given  up 
all  hope  and  their  strength  was  rapidly  going  when  the  help  came. 

Saturday  morning  five  young  men  from  Syracuse  went  down  to 
Otisco  lake  to  stay  a  few  days.  They  made  headquarters  at  a  cot 
tage  on  the  west  side  of  the  lake  about  midway  of  its  length,  and 
nearly  opposite  the  cottage  of  Ridgway  Rowley  of  Tort  land  which  is 
on  the  east  side  of  the  lake.  The  lake  is  a  mile  wide  at  this  point. 
During  the  day,  Saturday,  they  went  out  sailing  in  the  Pierce  sail- 
lx>at,  the  same  boat  which  capsized  on  the  night  of  July  27  with 
which  Ray  Harrington  and  Ray  Smith  of  Cortland  and  a  fellow 
camper  of  Syracuse,  Max  Blackwell,  had  an  experience  after  cap 
sizing.  The  wind  was  blowing  hard  all  the  afternoon  and  it  was 
hazardous  to  be  out  upon  the  water  at  that  time. 

As  the  evening  came  on  the  wind  freshened  and  the  waves  ran 
higher,  so  that  it  was  with  difficulty  that  a  small  boat  could  live  on 
the  water.  It  was  after  dark  when  three  of  the  five,  George  ( .ill  x-rt , 
Jack  Strong  and  Carl  Blackwell,  a  younger  brother  of  Max  Black- 
well,  who  had  the  experience  in  July,  decided  to  go  to  a  dance  in  A  ni 
ter  that  night.  They  took  the  sailboat  and  started  away,  attired 
in  their  best  clothes.  Out  in  the  middle  of  the  lake  a  sudden  Haw 
struck  the  boat  and  over  it  went.  All  three  \\crc  >t niggling  in  tin- 
water.  They  contrived  to  get  hold  of  tin-  boat,  which  was  bottom 
side  up,  and  hung  on,  but  the  waves  broke  over  the  keel  of  the  boat 
and  struck  them  in  the  face  so  frequently  and  ><>  violently  that  they 
swallowed  a  good  deal  of  water.  The  water  wa-  icy  cold  and  they 
were  soon  chilled  to  the  marrow.  They  succeeded  in  getting  off 
their  clothing  to  lighten  them  and  to  help  them  in  ca^e  they  needed 
to  swim  ashore.  Then  they  >houted  for  help,  but  there  wa>  not  a 
house  in  tin  region  except  the  Rowley  cottage,  half  a  mile  away. 
The  wind  blew  the  >onnd  in  the  direction  of  the-  Rowley-.  They 


RIDGWAY  GEORGE  ROWLEY  223 


decided  to  shout  in  concert,  hoping  that  the  volume  of  sound  thus 
produced  would  carry  across  the  water.  No  response  came  and 
they  were  disheartened. 

Strong  finally  said  he  could  hold  on  no  longer,  they  had  got  to 
drown  and  they  might  as  well  have  it  over  with.  Just  then  there 
was  a  sudden  appearance  of  light  at  the  Rowleys,  and  the  others 
exhorted  him  to  try  a  little  longer. 

Miss  Florence  Van  Bergen,  a  niece  of  Mr.  Rowley,  who  with 
her  mother,  Mrs.  A.  V.  Van  Bergen  of  Cortland,  was  at  the  cottage 
had  retired  and  was  on  the  side  of  the  cottage  next  the  shore.  The 
mournful  sound  of  the  voices  floated  to  her  ears.  She  sat  up  in  bed 
and  listened,  ran  to  a  window  and  listened.  Down  stairs  she  dashed. 

"There  is  some  one  in  trouble  out  on  the  water.  I  can  hear 
their  voices,  and  there  is  no  fun  in  them.  It  is  too  mournful  a 
sound  to  mean  anything  else  than  a  call  for  help." 

Mr.  Rowley  ran  outside  and  listened.  True,  enough,  it  was  a 
cry  for  help.  Daniel  DeBar  of  Borodino  was  also  at  the  cottage  and 
Mr.  Rowley  asked  if  he  would  go  with  him  to  the  rescue.  The  lat 
ter  thought  no  boat  could  live  in  the  water  that  night,  but  Mr.  Row 
ley  declared  he  should  go  anyway ;  he  couldn't  let  those  boys  drown. 

Mr.  DeBar  then  said  he  would  go  too. 

While  the  two  men  were  rushing  down  to  their  rowboat  the 
ladies  waved  a  lantern  to  show  that  the  cries  were  heard. 

It  was  a  hard  pull  out  to  the  capsized  sail-boat.  When  the  row- 
boat  was  nearly  up  to  the  boys  they  seemed  inclined  to  let  go  and 
swim  for  the  row-boat,  but  Mr.  Rowley  warned  them  to  let  his  boat 
alone  till  he  gave  them  permission.  He  said  they  would  swamp 
him  if  they  climbed  the  side  of  his  boat,  and  there  were  five  of  them 
for  a  small  boat  to  carry.  He  would  rescue  them  if  they  would  obey 
him,  otherwise  he  should  leave  them.  They  promised  to  obey.  He 
rowed  the  prow  of  the  boat  up  to  Strong,  who  was  the  nearest  gone 
of  the  three,  and  let  him  swing  himself  into  the  boat  over  the  prow. 
Then  he  backed  away  and  turned  the  stern  of  the  boat  toward  one 
of  the  others,  and  let  him  crawl  in  over  the  stern,  and  the  third 
followed  him.  The  three  were  quite  content  to  lie  down  quietly  in 
the  bottom  of  the  boat.  Then  they  set  out  for  shore,  which  was 
safely  reached. 

Mr.  Rowley  built  up  a  big  fire  in  the  cottage  and  wrapped  the 
boys  in  blankets  and  finally  succeeded  in  getting  them  warmed  up. 


224  1'OKTRY  AND   TkOSK  SKI.I-X  TIONS 


Strong  was  so  nearly  used  up  that  he  was  sick  all  night  and  had  to 
go  to  bed  at  once. 

Toward  11  o'clock  the  other  two  concluded  that  their  friends 
across  the  lake  would  be  wild  with  anxiety  if  they  did  not  get  back 
and  as  the  wind  had  gone  down  to  a  considerable  degree  they  bor 
rowed  Mr.  Rowley's  row-boat  and  crossed  the  lake. 

The  people  in  that  vicinity  declare  they  will  smash  this  sailboat 
to  pieces  as  it  has  nearly  caused  the  death  of  six  young  men  this 
summer  and  has  kept  the  friends  of  others  in  perfect  torment  while 
it  has  been  in  use  on  the  lake. 


RIDGWAY  GEORGE  ROWLEY  225 


As  Pants  the  Hart,  When  Hunter's  Horn! 


Married,    in    Redwood    City,   May  10,    1881,  at  the  residence  of  the  bride's 
mother,  W.  W.  Hunter,  of  Mariposa,  to  Mary  Doyle,  of  Redwood  City. 

With  the  marriage  notice  came  a  very  large  slice  of  beautiful 
frosted  cake,  accompanied  by  the  following  note : 

R.  G.  Rowley,  Esq.,  Dear  Sir:  By  request  of  the  bride  I  send 
you  this  cake,  earnestly  hoping  that  the  dreams  over  it  will  convince 
you  of  the  error  of  longer  living  in  bachelordom.  The  happy  cou 
ple  have  departed  to  San  Francisco  for  a  brief  honeymoon. 

•Respectfully,  G. 

We  pause  in  solemn  thought.  The  moment  is  a  portentous 
one  in  our  existence.  We  tremble  as  we  pause.  Move  on,  oh  life! 
move  on!  leave  us  not  alone  with  this  o'erwhelming  reverie!  To 
be  or  not  to  be — married,  that's  the  question!  Dear  Friend  "G," 
had  we  but  been  "convinced"  by  our  "dreams"  on  this  matter,  we 
should  have  been  married  long  ago;  aye,  well  married.  But 
dreams  are  treacherous,  luring,  deceiving  things.  It  is  life's  waking 
hours  alone  that  may  be  trusted.  When  the  day  dawns,  and  the 
night  dream's  gone,  it  is  but  the  cold-hearted  world  only  that  stands 
ready  to  hold  us  in  her  cruel  disappointing  arms,  congealing  the 
warm  currents  that  might,  could,  would,  should  have  flowed  for 
some  other.  UG,"  your  deft  fingers  have  touched  a  chord  in  our 
soul  we  had  rashly  deemed  was  silent  ever  more.  But  man  is  man, 
as  woe  is  woe,  and  more's  the  pity.  In  the  hopeful  strength  of  your ' 
youthful  manhood  you  can  lovingly  look  up  to  woman  as  the  star 
of  your  life,  the  one  bright  particular  spot  of  your  destiny.  But  to 
us  all  stars  have  set,  night  reigns  supreme  with  darkest  hour,  and 
we  but  await  the  herald  of  a  new  morn  to  bring  us  the  welcome  light. 
But  returning  to  our  wedding  cake.  This  happy  Hunter,  with  his 
dark  bright  eyes,  has  won  the  chase;  and  now  a  panting  "hart" 
lies  at  his  feet  pierced  by  their  soft  gleam.  May  his  look  of  love 
ne'er  turn  away  from  her  who  has  been  so  ardently  pursued  and 
caught.  And  when,  in  time,  the  quick  step  of  the  Hunter  shall  be 
slowed,  may  there  be  no  lack  of  young  Hunters  then  to  take  up  the 
bow  and  quiver  and  go  forth  to  the  chase,  as  their  father  went,  tri 
umphant  in  victory. 


226  POETRY  AND  PROSE  SELECTIONS 

Earthquakes  and  Electricity 


It  is  comparatively,  an  easy  thing,  Mr.  Editor,  amid  the  reti 
cence  and  seclusion  of  one's  closet,  shut  out  from  all  visible  <  >1  n'ect  «•«. 
conversing  only  with  our  own  crude  ideas  of  what  was,  is,  and  ought 
to  be,  relying  on  the  evidence  offered  us  by  others,  receiving  as 
truths  the  dogmatical  doctrines  of  subtle  metaphysicians,  while 
the  great,  actual,  living  facts  presented  by  an  earnest  nature  are 
entirely  discarded;  it  is  easy,  I  say,  thus  to  build  up,  Phoenix  like, 
theories  of  our  own.  on  the  ashes  of  the  conflagration  of  the  Temple 
of  Truth,  consumed  by  the  blaze  of  our  own  vivid  imagination  and 
by  the  burning  heat  of  that  "central  fire"  around  whose  forked 
flames  have  danced  for  ages  those  would-be  immortalized  philoso 
phers,  who,  at  different  intervals  in  the  world's  history,  amid  the 
gratulation  and  conceit  of  their  self-made  philosophy,  have  cried 
aloud  from  their  cell-tops,  "Eureka!"  "Eureka!" 

But  when  men  go  forth  from  their  dwellings,  and  with  deter 
mined  effort  and  infinite  labor  climb  to  the  mountain  peaks,  striv 
ing  to  reach  the  clouds  to  sec-  of  what  manner  of  stuff  they  are  made, 
— descending  into  the  craters  of  belching,  bursting,  heaving,  throb 
bing  volcanoes;  hanging  suspended  by  their  heels  over  the  edge 
of  a  jutting  cliff,  thus  peering  down  into  that  seething,  hissing 
cauldron  of  molten  liquid  fire  beneath;  while  the  walls  of  rock 
around  them  spurt  forth  their  fiery  juices,  the  red-hot  lava  burning 
the  shoes  from  off  their  feet,  and  the  deafening  roar  of  the  warring 
elements  astounding  their  ears — penetrating,  as  it  were,  the  very 
bowels  of  a  living  volcano,  there  seeing  Truth  and  Nature  unveiled 
before  them — it  is  to  such  men  as  these  we  must  look  for  the  exposi 
tion  of  philosophical  truths;  for  the  proof  and  final  test  of  all  specu 
lative  theories,  to-wit:  by  personal  investigation  and  ocular  demon 
stration.  It  was  from  this  physical  contact  with  the  forces  of  na 
ture,  that  the  men  named  in  my  last  article  arrived  at  conclusions 
which  the  world  has  ever  >ince  received  and  acknowledged  as  the 
principles  of  truth. 

Matters  of  fact,  and  deductions  from  theories  are  quite  often 
found  to  be  antagonistic  to  each  other.  "  Tis  true,  'tis  pity,  and 
pity  'tis  'tis  true."  So  with  "Frank's"  process,  "from  an  able  Eng 
lish  philosopher."  of  raising  salad,  fit  to  eat,  /;/  a  few  minutes,  from 
mustard  seed  soaked  in  acid,  sowed,  and  covered  with  a  metalic 


RIDGWAY  GEORGE  ROWLEY  227 


plate,  connected  with  the  prime  conductor  of  an  electrical  machine 
(vide  Mercury,  Nov.  9th).  Very  beautiful  in  theory;  but  I  make 
bold  to  declare,  that  this  "simple  experiment"  was  never  produced 
in  the  laboratory  of  any  electrician  in  England  or  America — it  has 
existed  only  in  the  brain  of  that  "able  English  philosopher."  Such 
a  "simple  experiment"  as  this,  were  it  true,  would  be  repeated  every 
day  before  the  classes  in  our  schools.  Upon  the  strength  of  this, 
"Frank"  builds  up  his  theory  of  the  immense  influence  of  electricity 
upon  all  vegetable  life;  so,  by  tapping  the  fountain  head  of  his  ar 
guments,  I  will,  I  think,  let  out  the  life-blood  of  his  deductions. 
Moreover,  were  it  true,  as  stated  by  this  "English  philosopher," 
what  would  it  prove?  I  can  truthfully  assert  the  wonderful  effect 
of  electricity  when  applied  by  a  powerful  battery,  upon  a  dead  body, 
galvanizing  into  a  momentary  new  life.  But  would  I  be  justified 
in  concluding  from  this,  that  electricity  is  the  means  to  be  used  by 
Omnipotence  in  the  final  resurrection  of  the  dead?  or  that  animal 
life  is  greatly  influenced  by  the  action  of  electricity,  without  the 
application  of  a  battery? 

The  pith  and  marrow  of  "Frank's"  theory  of  electricity  being 
the  cause  of  local  earthquakes,  is,  that  the  atmosphere  in  certain 
places  is  too  dry  to  act  as  a  medium,  whereby  to  convey  away  from 
the  earth  to  the  upper  regions  the  superfluous  generated  electricity. 
Were  this  true,  we  should,  of  course,  look  for  the  severest  earth 
quakes  in  the  driest  localities,  and  as  far  as  possible  from  so  wet  a 
body  as  a  great  ocean;  as  for  instance,  the  central  portions  of  this 
continent,  say  in  Arizona,  or  southern  Utah,  where  rain  falls  quite 
as  seldom  as  on  this  coast;  or,  to  be  very  reasonable,  we  will  go  no 
farther  than  the  interior  or  eastern  portion  of  our  own  state.  But 
facts,  unfortunately  for  "Frank,"  do  not  substantiate  this  specula 
tive  theory.  Invariably  earthquakes  are  felt  more  severely  directly 
on  our  coast  than  in  the  interior.  In  fact,  the  shocks,  according  to 
the  evidence  of  mariners,  reach  far  out  into  the  ocean  itself,  being 
felt  very  violently  hundreds  of  miles  from  land.  Who  then  is  pre 
pared  to  say  that  the  center  of  all  this  subterranean  commotion  is 
not  under  the  ocean  itself,  and  that  we  on  this  coast  are  not  merely  on 
the  edge  of  the  convulsed  portion  ? 

A  digest  of  the  chronicles  of  all  authentic  earthquakes  that  have 
occurred  in  all  time  and  in  all  parts  of  the  world,  will  prove  beyond 
a  peradventure  this,  that  the  islands  of  the  sea,  and  the  lands  bor- 


1'OKTRY   AND   P R OS K  SELECTIONS 


dering  on  the  sea,  are  most  frequently  \isited  \viih  earthquake-. 
I  might  say  exclusively  subject  to  them,  for  tin-  interior  of  the  great 
continents  appear  to  be  exempt  from  their  effects.  Certainly 
"Frank"  will  not  contend  that  the  atmosphere  over  the  ocean  is 
so  very  dry,  when  it  is  so  frequently  filled  with  the  most  humid 
and  vaporous  fogs,  while  the  presence  of  so  large  a  body  of  water  is 
of  itself  sufficient  to  render  moist  and  to  dampen  the  air  in  its  vicin 
ity.  Coming  directly  home  with  the  issue,  the  county  of  Santa 
Cruz  is  probably  more-  sensibly  affected  by  earthquakes  than  any 
other  equal  portion  of  the  State;  yet  this  very  county  is  notorious 
for  its  humid  atmosphere,  being  subject  to  constant  heavy  fogs 
drifting  in  from  the  ocean  during  the  dry  season,  and  covering  a 
wide  t>elt  of  the  country,  which  are  far  more  efficacious  for  the  pur 
pose  of  rendering  the  atmosphere  a  good  conductor  of  electricity 
than  would  be  the  heaviest  rains. 

And  right  here,  again,  with  the  same  weapon,  let  us  deal  a  blow 
at  his  theory  of  the  electrical  current  in  its  "exosmic"  passage,  suck 
ing  out  the  sweets  from  our  fruits,  and  the  fragrance  from  our  (low 
ers,  and  absorbing  the  juices  of  the  animal  body — suggesting  as  a 
remedy  the  wetting  of  trees  and  plants,  etc.  Now  the  fogs  of  our 
coast  country  perform  this  "wetting"  process  better,  I  imagine, 
than  "Frank"  could  with  his  sprinkling  pot;  yet  who  will  presume  to 
say  that  the  fruits  and  flowers  of  Santa  Cruz  are  sweeter  or  more  ha 
grant  than  those  of  Santa  Clara  or  San  Joaquin?  or  that  the  rattle 
or  children  are  better,  or  that  nervous  diseases  are  less  frequent? 

"Frank."  in  one  of  his  earlier  articles  (vide  Mercury,  Oct. 
26th)  encloses  his  theory  in  the  following  nut-shell:  "The  dry  air 
furnishe^  no  media  of  CM  ape,  and  the  slightest  local  disturbance 
in  the  conductor  is  sufficient  to  produce  the  result  we  have  described. 
If  the  air  contains  clouds,  or  vapors,  the  pluselectricity  will  seek  the 
upper  current  in  the  atmosphere,  and  perform  its  circle  in  the  air 
in-irad  of  the  ground" — meaning  that  earthquakes  would  then  be 
avoided.  I  think  I  have  sufficiently  answered  this,  above;  but  it 
is  a  well  known  fact,  as  Frank  himself  admits  in  his  article  No.  5, 
that  electrical  current^  arc  confined  entirely  and  exclusively  to  the 
surface  of  bodies;  electricians  have  failed  to  find  evidences  of  eler- 
tricity  in  the  interior  of  charged  bodies,  it  doe-  not  permeate  them 
to  any  depth  at  all,  it  merely  lies  in  a  superficial  state;  how  then 
can  the  body  of  the  earth  be  filled  with  electricity,  seeking  an  outlet? 


RIDGWAY  GEORGE  ROWLEY  229 


This  is,  as  "Frank"  says,  an  uun philosophical  impossibility.''  He 
says  further  that  during  an  earthquake  gravitation  is  suspended. 
It  will  be  difficult  to  make  any  resident  of  this  city  believe  that; 
on  the  contrary,  we  are  of  the  opinion  that  gravitation  is  wonderful 
ly  accelerated  during  earthquakes,  if  falling  bricks  and  tottering 
walls  are  any  evidence. 

Again,  in  article  No.  5,  "Frank"  says,  "If  my  reasoning  be 
correct  that  the  attracting,  gravitating  power  of  the  earth  is  con 
fined  to  the  solid  or  mineral  zone,  that,  together  with  the  rotary 
motion  of  the  globe,  would  cause  the  gaseous  matter  of  the  interior 
to  seek  an  outlet."  The  italics  are  ours;  and  in  our  next  we  will  en 
deavor  to  show  that  "Frank"  has,  unwittingly,  caught  the  right 
sow  by  the  ear  this  time,  and  that  in  this  "gaseous  matter  of  the 
interior  seeking  an  outlet,"  we  have  the  most  palpable  and  natural 
cause  of  the  phenomenon  of  earthquakes,  without  seeking  the  aid  of 
electricity,  or  the  direct  influence  of  internal  fires;  also,  why  their 
effects  are  confined  to  the  vicinity  of  the  sea.  Then  we  will  "dry" 
on  earthquakes. 


Our  Greeting 


It  is  but  meet  the  Journal  should  greet  its  kind  patrons  and  len 
ient  readers  with  the  warm  welcome  of  a  "Merry  Christmas  and  a 
Happy  New  Year" — and,  as  we  extend  it  to  young  and  old,  we  can 
but  count  how  many  New  Years'  Days  have  so  far  thrust  us  along 
into  New  Years  of  life,  which  have  all  too  soon  grown  old  and  gone 
down  into  the  great  dead  past. 

There  is  no  memory  so  living  green  and  beautifully  fresh,  as 
that  of  the  Christmas  morn  of  our  childhood's  days.  We  could 
almost  wish,  yea,  we  do  wish,  that  we  were  back  again  on  life's 
young  journey,  until  the  springtime  of  youth  alone  surrounded  us. 
Freely  could  we  spare  the  joyless  harvest  of  age,  for  the  rich  bloom 
and  perfume  of  our  early  summers'  flowers.  Were  our  walk 
amongst  them  made  perpetual,  and  these  swift  stalking  seasons  that 
bring  the  "sere  and  yellow  leaf"  checked  in  their  headlong  progress, 
willingly,  I  think,  would  we  surrender  the  busy  hope  and  vain  am 
bition  of  maturer  years.  The  exulting  joy  of  a  child's  heart  as  it 
wakes  so  early  on  the  Christmas  morn  to  find  that  merry  old  Kriss 


230  POETRY  AND  PROSE  SELECTIONS 


Kringle  did  not  ride  over  the  house  last  night;  hut.  that  In-  did 
really  stop  at  our  little  chimney-top  and  come  down  its  narrow  and 
blackened  flue — up  which  we  have  been  petting  for  the  last  week  in 
wonder  howr  he  could  ever  get  down  there,  and  sore  afraid  lest  he 
might  be  compelled  to  leave  his  pack  behind  on  the  roof — \v  hi  li 
the  big  long  stocking  over  the  fire-place  is  so  round  and  full,  and 
over-full,  with  the  merry  givers  gifts,  has  no  parallel  in  these  blase 
days  of  after  life. 

Then  what  a  season  rolls  between  the  coming  of  the  New  Year's 
days.  It  is  as  if  the  winter  would  never  end,  and  spring-time  came 
only  because  old  winter  had  worn  itself  away  with  age  and  care; 
while  summer  followed  upon  spring  so  slow  that  even  the  early 
apples  and  pears  hang  green,  yet  coveted,  all  too  long  upon  the 
boughs;  while  autumn  itself  is  so  far  away  it  can  never  come  at  all. 
Not  so  now:  years  are  but  the  briefest  of  seasons,  while  the  revolv 
ing  cycles  turn  so  fast  that  they  become  blended  together  until  the 
distinction  of  years  themselves  is  lost.  And  whither  hasten  \\< 
all  so  fast?  Aye,  whither!  Let  the  idle  moments  of  these  holidays, 
when  care  and  business  are  for  the  nonce  laid  aside,  reflect  a  solemn 
answer. 


Errata: 

Page    11 — First  and  second  lines  of  first  verse  misplaced;  should  he  aligned  with 

the  others. 

Page     16 — In  second  line  read  "ween"  for  "wean." 
Page    43 — In  third  line  lead  "comely"  for  "homely." 
Page    81 — "A  Succc»!ul  Sutpri-r"  >h<>uld  be  given  as  quoted  from  theCortland 

Daily  Standard  of  Oct.  3d,  1892. 
Page  222 — "A  Daring   Rt-M-iir."   -hould  be  given  as  quotrd  from    the  Cortluml 

Daily  Stand. in!  of  Sept.  26,   1903. 

Where  the  punctuation  i-  inronvn,  make  it  right  to  Miii   tin-  M  DM  . 


RIDGWAY  GEORGP:  ROWLEY 


231 


Index 


Page  No. 

ABornFool 113 

A  Bull  and  Bear  Fight 140 

A  City  Asleep 10Q 

Aestheticism  Aestheticised 1 50 

After  the  Battle,  Mother 164 

Age  and  I 19 

AllAlone___  33 

All  the  Way  from  Chicago 206 

Ambition 43 

America's  Weakness 199 

Amy  Spain 13 

Andersonville 40 

A  New  Volume.  _  _   175 

An  Impressive  Power 209 

Announcement 220 

An  Outrageous  Monopoly 125 

A  Ring  Supervisor  Giving  Way  to 

a  Reform  Supervisor 188 

As  Pants  the  Hart  When  Hunter's 

Horn__  _   225 

A  Successful  Surprise 81 

A  True  Story  of  a  Bootblack 94 

Baby-Life  __  54 

Bare — not  Bear — Facts 120 

Bed  and  Board 169 

Brass  Mounted 181 

Breaking  the  Record  __   150 

"Bull  Pups"  and  "Fifteen  Cents"_   178 
BytheSea__  58 

Certainly,  ' '  I  ncorporate" 171 

Christmas  Memories 82 

Church  Going 145 

College  Jamborees __      115 

Death  of  Judge  Daingerfield 187 

Diabolism 159 

Earthquakes  and  Electricity 226 

Economy  and  the  Ass 128 

"Equal  and  Just" 207 

Fairs  and  Unfairs_.  _    180 


Page  No. 

Ghouls  of  the  Press 174 

Grandly  Eloquent 108 

G 's  Indigent  Fund 196 

Hark!    From  the  Skies  a  Cheering 

Sound 160 

Hear  Us  for  Our  Cause 103 

Human  Nature  as  it  Is 167 

I  Bid  Adieu  to  My  Government. __    139 

II  Penseroso 57 

Impeachment 213 

In  Reverie 25 

IntheChapel ___     91 

Introductory  and  Reminiscent 3 

I  Would  I  Were  a  Boy  Again 36 

Journal  Mites  and  Palo  Alto  Items 

143,  149,  155,  163,  166,  173,  177, 

182,  186,  189,  192,    195,   198,  201, 

205,  208,  210,  219 

Labor  and  Capital 92 

"Lay  Me  Down  and  Save  the  Flag"     51 

Lines  to  a  "Kloochman" 65 

'ListToIt__  193 

Mac-Dough!  Hold!  Enough! 116 

Midnight     Mass    at    St.    Mary's 

Cathedral  __  97 

More  Dam  Nonsense 117 

Mylsland__  67 

Night___  64 

No  Rest. _  46 

Oh  Who's  Afraid  to  Die 74 

Only  a  Little  Brook ._.     26 

Our  Figure  Head 207 

Our  Greeting 229 

OurValley 15 

Palo  Alto  Answered 200 

Passion-Song 62 

Personal  Journalism 130 

Possibly,  the  Ring  is  Broken? 1 70 

Private  Agents  Wanted 183 


232 


POKTRV  AND   I'KOSK  SKLKITIONS 


Index — Continued 


Page  No. 

Purer  Politics..  -   156 

Remember  Us  __  30 

So  Much  For  It.. 
Spring  Thoughts 

Steelheads  vs.  Blockheads..          .   137 
Substance  not  Shadow  ____  ......   134 

Swift  the  Days  of  Spring  are  Pass 


ing 


Thanks  Giving....                          -  151 

That  Awful  Head  _____                   -  142 
The  Boss  is  Dead!     Long  Live  the 

Bo«]                                      -  144 

The  Coast  Range.  .  21 

The  Conviction  of  Gray..              -  168 
The  Curse  of  Speech  ------ 

The  Demon  of  Rebellion.  .  .  34 

The  Devil  and  the  Mount..            .  175 

The  Fierce  Spirit  of  Youth  -----    .  153 

The  Fog  Bell  of  Alcatraz.  _  47 
The  Freedman's  Hymn,  Four  Mil 

lion  Freemen  More  ----------  72 

The  Home  vs.  the  Dormitory.  .     .  202 

The  Mourning  Dove  of  California.  41 

The  New  Inspiration  ----               -  179 

The  Play  of  the  Faculty  .  ......  -  -  138 


Page  No. 

The  Poisoned  Touch  of  Gold..      .    190 
The  Rain!    The  Rain!     The  Wel- 

rnnu-  K.iin! 

The  Reason  Why._  123 

The  Revenge  of  Encina 

The  Sack  of  the  Capitol .   125 

The  Sea  of  Years..  70 

The  Wooing  of  Nature 

Tin  Wounded  Scout. 16 

True  to  the  Old  Man LM 

Twilight  Reflect  ions 

Two  Old  Ladies  of  France 203 

"Uriah  Heep".  1^ 

Vale!  Almadrn!  -?»l 

Very  Modern  Journalism. 146 

Victory  i-  Peace  61 

We  Rise  to  Explain 1(>7 

Where  First  We  Met 

Why  Not..-.  -   179 

Woman's     I  hit  it-     vs.     Woman's 

Rights, 

Wooed,  Won  and  Lost I1' 

WordsofWisdom....  211 

Yosemite..  -       ' 


From  Duncan  McPherson  of  the  Santa  Cruz  Sentinel,  Gala. 


(An  Old-time,  Long-time,  Editor  of  San  Mateo  County  Newspapers,  "Washed" 
out  of  the  County  by  Spring  Valley  Waters. ) 

"Two  weeks  ago  we  asked  Mr.  Rowley,  district  attorney  and 
watch-dog  of  San  Mateo  Co.,  why  he  did  not  bark  about  State 
Prison  matters.  Last  week  he  went  through  the  form  of  answer 
ing  our  interrogatory,  but  he  did  not  answer  it.  The  article  is  not 
written  in  a  spirit  of  seriousness.  It  is  a  little  fun,  a  good  many 
words,  and  immensely  shows  how  'not  to  do  it.'  Every  person 
who  knows  R.  G.  Rowley  knows  that  that  gentleman  does  not 
know  what  fear  is.  It  is  enough  for  him  to  know  that  he  is  right, 
and  the  great  waters  of  Spring  Valley  cannot  wash  him  from  his 
firm  resolve.  He  smiles  at  death  and  laughs  at  prisons.  Of  course 
we  do  not  expect  him  to  enter  the  contest  as  an  attorney,  unless  he 
is  paid  for  his  services.  We  do  not  even  expect  him  to  assume  the 
responsibility  of  an  editorial  expression,  as  he  has  not  lost  any  pris 
ons  or  things,  and  yet  we  did  hope  that  a  newspaper,  so  fearless  as 
the  Journal,  born  as  it  was  as  the  necessary  defender  of  an  outraged 
people,  would  so  far  comply  with  the  demands  of  its  hungry  pat 
rons  as  to  pull  off  its  muzzle.  Can  you  not,  Mr.  Journal,  just  pub 
lish  the  essence  of  the  damaging  evidence  wrung  from  unwilling 
witnesses?  There  is  an  umbilical  cord  connecting  San  Mateo  Co. 
and  San  Quentin.  What  you  say  in  behalf  of  honesty,  and  justice, 
and  jobs,  and  wheels,  and  purchases,  and  officers,  and  contracts, 
and  harnesses,  and  furniture,  and  hay,  will  have  its  weight,  and  you 
must  not  seriously  tell  us  that  your  silence  is  the  price  of  coward 
ice." 


— 


( 1)647  U 


U.C.BERKELEY  LIBRARIES 


COL43111257 


it^s ' 


47373G 


UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA  LIBRARY 


«?/* 

mi 


